A Tale of Two Rangers
by LuthienThranduillion
Summary: Aragorn and Faramir, missing their old lives as rangers, decide to spend a week in Ithilien. A chance meeting with bandits has dastardly consequences.
1. Restlessness

_Disclaimer: I own no characters or places in this fiction. The minor original characters who I do own will be stated at the beginning of each chapter. Aragorn, Faramir, Minas Tirith, Ithilien, and the like are the property of Tolkein Estates and New Line Cinemas. _

_Author's note: When I see the characters, I see them as portrayed in the movie, except that Boromir and Faramir's hair is darker and they have grey eyes as in the books. _

_Summary: Aragorn and Faramir, missing their old lives as rangers, decide to spend a week in Ithilien. A chance meeting with bandits has dastardly consequences._

_**WARNINGS: Will include a LOT of angst. **__Torture of Faramir and Aragorn, descriptions of wounds and violence, and general alarm. However, there will be, as always with my stories, no slash or sex. This chapter is quite safe, actually would be rated K._

Chapter One-Restlessness

Aragorn, king of the reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor, straightened his tunic and glanced in the mirror. He took a deep breath. It seemed as if his finery was right. However, having spent most of his life as a ranger with little care for his appearance, he was not used to formalities. With a sigh, he left his chambers. As he shut the door behind him, a hand covered his eyes, and he took in breath sharply.

His wife's musical laughter made him relax. "Always," Arwen said, "You may have been the greatest ranger in Eriador, but you could always be outsmarted by a certain elven maiden."

Aragorn turned to face, her the tense expression on his face disappearing. "Ah, Arwen," he said, planting a kiss firmly on her lips, "Indeed I could. And yet can. But I'm glad of it, for you lighten my heart."

"Council meeting?" Arwen asked, the smile fading from her face. She knew how her husband despised these official events. Of course, she couldn't blame him for it, she herself struggling to get used to being Gondor's queen.

Aragorn nodded grimly. "Yes, _melamin_, I am afraid so," he said, "But I shall just have to endure it."

Arwen smiled again, playfully, "Indeed you shall. Though I am surprised you did not have a more clear idea of what being Isildur's heir would impose upon you," he ran her fingers through his hair tenderly. "And I do not think your steward was ever expecting to hold that office, so he never prepared himself."

"Faramir?" Aragorn gave her a puzzled look. "What has he to do with this?"

Arwen laughed again, "Have you not seen him?" she asked, "The way he sits, stands, walks, and even speaks all the time now?" Aragorn's look was blank. Arwen entwined her fingers in his. "He's nervous. So formal. It's not really Faramir. I do not know him well enough to say what, but there's something else beyond the shell of the Stewardship. Now, you must go, or you will be late," he pushed him gently down the hall.

Aragorn walked to the council room, thinking about what his wife had said about Faramir. Come to mention it, he had noticed his Steward to be very stiff and formal. But he had merely attributed that to Faramir's adjusting to his new role. He made a point that he would watch him carefully at this council meeting.

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"What should I do about it?" asked Imrahil of Dol Amroth in despair. Faramir's uncle had just finished an account of the rebellion that had broken out in his lands. The bands of rebels were marauding the villages of Dol Amroth and burning fields, and then looting the villages' remains.

The King, who, Faramir thought, looked quite uneasy- as he had every right to, for he had only been King for a matter of months, and it was surely a great burden for him- as he answered. "You have a garrison in Dol Amroth?"

Imrahil nodded, "Yes, I suppose I may send them out to erradicate the rebels," he said, "We cannot have this going on any longer." Faramir thought his uncle looked strained and exhausted.

He stood tentatively, looking around at the council. "If I may speak..." he began shyly. Aragorn nodded for him to continue. Now that he had been given permission, though, Faramir wondered if his idea was a good one. But there was no going back. "It seems that it may be effective if Lord Imrahil attempts to speak to the rebels," he said, "To discover what ails them, and why they would turn against Gondor."

One of the other noblemen, a portly man, stood up. "A suggestion that none other than Lord Faramir would think up," he retorted, "They burn our villages and kill our subjects and what do we do? _Speak_ to them?" The man gestured around, "I should have thought that my lord the Steward's years of war would have taught him that enemies must be erradicated."

Faramir felt color rise in his cheeks when he was rebuked, and he lowered his head submissively. "I'm sorry, my lord," he said, "Forgive me." The phrase, his first formal lines to learn, had been drilled into him. His father had told him that if he ever said anything that disagreed with what one of higher status than he-virtually, in Denethor's mind, everyone in Gondor- to say that phrase. Usually, he said it to his father, and even when he was twenty, it was almost always followed by a sound beating with a switch or sometimes even a horsewhip.

It was then he realized that these men were no longer of higher status than he. He began to turn beet red as he looked up and saw that many of the lords wore expressions of amusement on their faces. It was only the quick thinking of the King that saved him even more embarassment. "Actually, I think Lord Faramir's suggestion is worth talking about," he said, and Faramir dared to meet his eyes after his blunder. They gave him a thoughtful look, but it seemed to Faramir almost like scrutiny, but not cold and heartless like his father's had been. However, he did not want to chance anything, so he looked downward again.

"Lord Imrahil, if you could perhaps manage to speak to the leader of the rebels, you could find out why they rebel, and eliminate the reason," Aragorn continued, turning to Imrahil.

The Prince of Dol Amroth was grim. "Perhaps," he mused, "But I think that he will not speak to me."

"If he refuses to speak with you, or if his reasons are traitorous, then you surely must use your garrison," Aragorn tilted his head slightly, "But until then, I would highly discourage any rash acts. There has been too much death in Gondor for the past years."

Some of the members of the council were nodding their heads in sad agreement. There were very few Gondorians who had not lost someone dear to them in the Ring War. But the lord who had spoken up against Faramir first merely snorted. "And there will be more, it seems, unless these rebels are disposed of."

Faramir did not like the way that he talked about men, especially fellow Gondorians, as if they were no more than scraps to go on the rubbish heap. "But if they are convinced to return to the Kingdom, we gain loyal subjects instead of lose them. And," he added this, not that he much cared, but because he was quite sure this noble would think more favorably, "there is always the matter of their tax money coming into our coffers."

Aragorn was surprised at this coming from the usual reserved and unselfish Faramir, and he could tell from the younger man's demeanor that it mattered little to the Steward. But why had he said it? The clinking gold bracelets on the noble's wrists answered the question. Faramir rose even higher in Aragorn's esteem as he was quite sure the Steward had noticed the other man's love of finery as well.

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Later that afternoon, Aragorn slipped outside for a walk in the gardens with Arwen. They walked close by each other, and he was filled once again with the sense of peace that always came from being in her company. For so many years he had thought that a day like today was only a dream, one that could never come true. But now it had. He relished in the feeling of Arwen's shoulder against his.

A sigh from nearby caused them to turn, as they heard Eowyn speaking."You do miss your ranger days, don't you?" she said softly.

Faramir, who stood next to her, looking out over the fields in the sunset, smiled sadly. "Yes, I must admit," he said, "Though I was under my father's shadow then, in Ithilien, it was the one place I felt like my own man. And there was so much freedom there."

Eowyn nodded sympathetically. "I understand. I miss riding freely across the plains of Rohan."

"I suppose we are both homesick," Faramir mused. A slight sound caused them both to turn simultaneously as the King and Queen rounded the corner.

"Good evening, Faramir," Aragorn said informally. He seemed in high spirits.

"Good evening, my lord," Faramir returned the greeting, slightly more formally, though wondering if he should relax. Being under Lord Denethor all his life hadn't boded well for relaxation around his betters, though, and he remained formal, though less uneasy than he had been at the council meeting.

"I suppose you and your lady are walking this evening?" he asked, taking Eowyn's hand in his own and kissing it lightly.

Eowyn's eyes sparkled with amusement."Indeed, my lord," she said, "We were merely talking about how my husband has missed his days as a ranger." She caught Arwen's eye meaningfully, and the Queen gave her an almost imperceptible look. "And here you are, who have been a ranger for over twice as long. I'm sure you miss it as well. Go along now," she pushed Faramir lightly towards Aragorn, and the two former rangers walked off together.

"And it is sealed," Arwen laughed.

"Yes, if my poor husband will only overcome his awe of the King enough to talk freely. You planted the seeds in his mind, I hope?" Eowyn asked her.

Arwen nodded.

"Then it is as much as we can do. But the trip would be good for them," she said, watching them disappear around a corner.

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"So you do miss your days of being in Ithilien,"Aragorn mused.

Faramir nodded. "Yes, my lord," he said, "It was so much less... less formal, and false. I could be myself, and as could my rangers. We were under little pressure, except to defend Ithilien. Whereas, as Steward, I must pretend to know what I am doing, when I really know nothing." He was still a bit stiff.

"Loosen up a little, Faramir," Aragorn said, putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder, "I don't bite." He chuckled, and was rewarded by a smile from his Steward, who rarely did.

"I know, my lord," Faramir replied, "But I spent my whole life in fear of my father. Under his rule, if you were relaxed in his prescence, you would be accused of disrespect. At first I thought you would be this way as well, and even now when I know you are not, I instinctively become formal."

Aragorn again was wondering about Faramir's harsh childhood. He'd known Denethor, many years ago, when he was young and happy, and he had been harsh then. He wondered how much worse it must have been for young Faramir when Denethor's own life began to fall apart. "Well, that makes the both of us misfits, I suppose, then," he said.

Faramir turned to the King questioningly. "I do not know what you mean, my lord," he said.

"I was raised in Rivendell, and I often felt quite out of place, for I was the only mortal among the elves," he explained.

Faramir nodded, "I was always in my brother's shadow, even after his death. But I held nothing against Boromir. I wish that he would have been here. Perhaps he would have made a better steward. I belong where there is quiet and I do not have to deal with state affairs."

Aragorn put a hand on the Steward's shoulder. "You do a fine job as steward," he said, "The best I could have. There are enough coldhearted nobles in the council, we need someone like you, who cares deeply about the people of Gondor."

Faramir was reassured. "Thank you, sire," he said, bowing briefly.

"I already told you there is no need for formality. We should be friends, not merely King and Steward," Aragorn replied.

"I'm sorry, my lord," Faramir replied, blushing, "But we've not been in each other's company much apart from formal occasions, so I don't think I'm quite sure how to be friends with you."

Aragorn grinned, "For starters, there's no need for you to say, 'my lord.' Simply call me Aragorn. Then, loosen up a bit. Talk about things that do not have to do with politics." He gave the Steward a pat on the back.

Faramir smiled again. "Thank you my l-" he checked himself, "Thank you, Aragorn."

Aragorn nodded, "You are very welcome," he said. "Now, about the way you miss being a ranger, I feel the same way. I am tired of the formality and show of the Court."

Faramir nodded affirmatively, "Those words are as true for me as for you," he replied exasperatedly.

"Well, Arwen suggested that I go to Ithilien," Aragorn continued, "For a week or so. The land is not yet brought fully back to its former glory, is it? There are still, for example, wild things in the woods, and a few orcs, perhaps? And not to mention highwaymen and other criminals."

Faramir met Aragorn's eyes, which twinkled. "Yes, indeed there are," he replied, feeling as if he could read Aragorn's mind.

"Good," the King replied, "Then we'll go a week from today and stay there for a week, doing what we both do best." He smiled.

Faramir's spirits lifted considerably. "That'll be good," he replied, grinning, "I look forward to it."

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_I hope you enjoyed it!_

_I have several headcanons about Faramir and Aragorn. First, I assume that Faramir, who, being the avid reader he is, would have read legends about Aragorn. That, and his earlier years, would probably make him quite humble and overly respectful around Aragorn._

_The fact that Faramir and Aragorn miss their years as rangers is also a headcanon of mine, as well as the thought that they would be close companions after the war of the Ring. Faramir was probably unused to public honor, and it would make his new role as steward quite difficult._

_Arwen and Eowyn would also probably become close friends. _

_The events in this story take place about six months after Aragorn becomes King._

_Namaarie, mellyn-nin,_

_Luthien_


	2. A Journey, and, Prospects for the Future

_Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story. All characters and places belong to the Tolkein Estates and New Line Cinemas._

_**WARNINGS:**__None for this chapter. Chapter Rating: K_

Chapter Two: A Journey, and, Prospects for the Future

"I never expected it to be like this!" Arwen laughed as she tucked another shirt of Aragorn's into his knapsack. "All I had thought of was getting them out there, where they were happy. I forgot the packing."

Eowyn smiled as she folded a pair of her husband's breeches. "Ah, yes, well, we could have gotten the servants to do this."

"And missed our own special touch?" Arwen asked. "No, It's not that hard. Only a few changes of clothes. But it was hard enough to find clothes suitable for the trip for Estel." She closed the knapsack. "There."

"Did you slip the note in?" asked Eowyn, closing Faramir's knapsack, "I almost forgot mine."

Arwen pulled a small envelope out and put it inside. "Now I have," she smiled. The two of them took the sacks and put them on the table. It was late, and their husbands were asleep. They had prepared their travel bags and a lunch for them before they themselves went to sleep, for Aragorn and Faramir, though they tried to hide it, were quite excited and would probably be up before sunrise and ready to leave. And Eowyn and Arwen did not feel like doing that.

"Goodnight, Arwen," Eowyn said as she went to her chambers. The Queen replied and went to her own.

As Arwen slid into bed, Aragorn stirred. "You're still awake, my Evenstar," he murmured, half asleep.

"Yes," she replied, "Did I wake you, _melamin_?"

Aragorn shook his head. "No," he said, "I am very easily awakened." He edged closer to her, putting his hand on her cheek, "And even if you did, I wouldn't mind. I still like to spend every moment I can with you."

Arwen smiled, putting her arms around him, "Maybe, but you should get some rest for your journey tomorrow." She kissed his forehead tenderly.

Aragorn smiled, and in a moment he'd drifted back to sleep, and Arwen beside him had done the same.

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Faramir awoke early, and, as Eowyn and Arwen had predicted, before light had yet painted the sky. It was the time he had awakened ever since he had turned twenty, as sleeping late was an unheard of luxury for the Ithilien Rangers, who had enough on their hands to keep them busy all day and night so close to the Nameless Land. He had been able to sleep later since becoming steward, but it would be quite easy to get back into his usual routine, he thought, gladly.

He slipped silently out of bed and dressed, in a simple tunic and breeches, without waking Eowyn. He planted a kiss on his sleeping bride's cheek. "Until we meet again," he whispered, brushing back a strand of her golden hair. He then left their chambers on silent feet and closed the door behind him and went out to the hall where he would meet Aragorn.

The King already stood there waiting, and Faramir reddened a bit at the thought that he was late. Aragorn was holding out something to him, a knapsack, it turned out to be. He slipped it on his back. "They seemed to have gotten everything in order," Aragorn told him.

Faramir nodded, a smile on his face, "Yes, they did. I should only hope they did not decide to play a prank on us and leave some important article out."

Aragorn looked at him in shock. "Why, how could you ever even suspect Arwen and Eowyn of doing such a thing?" he asked, not meaning to scold the Steward, but, as Faramir's comment had been, as an attempt of jest.

But Faramir was unused to jesting from his superiors, and he lowered his head, blushing. "I'm sorry, my lord," he said, once again reverting to formality.

Aragorn sighed and smiled good naturedly, trying to show that he hadn't meant to be stern. "No offence taken, Faramir, and I've already told you you may call me by my given name in informal circumstances."

This only caused the poor Steward to blush further. "I... I understand," he managed.

Aragorn put a hand on his shoulder. "Well, enough of that. If they did prank us, we shall find out soon enough. Now we must get our horses saddled and leave!"

Faramir loosened a bit and smiled. "Good idea," he replied, "I will be glad to take leave of politics."

"May the Valar bless you for those words, Faramir!" Aragorn exclaimed, and they left the palace and headed to the stable.

Aragorn led Roheryn out of the stall and brushed the proud stallion's gleaming coat before lifting his old ranger's saddle onto his back and putting a simple leather bridle in his mouth. Roheryn whickered contently and nuzzled his master.

Faramir groomed his chestnut stallion Feanor and saddled him with similar tack, though slightly more fine, as it was Gondorian made. The two men led the horses out of the stables and mounted, urging their mounts forward as their hooves _clip-clop_ped on the cobblestone streets of Minas Tirith. The gates opened for them without a word in command, for, though they were dressed in far less grandeur than was typical, the guards still knew the faces and demeanor of the King and the Steward.

Once on the Pellenor, Aragorn urged Roheryn into a fast trot, gradually easing him into a smooth, steady run. Faramir let Feanor follow close behind, for the two stallions had become quite acquainted with each other, being in adjoining stalls, and liked to ride abreast. At last, Aragorn felt free. No more papers to write, or laws to pass, or arrogant nobles to deal with. Only he, Roheryn, and the wind in his hair. The way he liked it. The stallion sensed his exhilaration and quickened his pace.

Faramir gave Feanor his head, and soon he was racing across the fields abreast with Aragorn. The King's eyes were closed and there was a blissful expression on his face, not the usual strained composure that Faramir had seen before. He too was infinitely happy that they'd gone on this journey. He should like the King to see places in Ithilien, such as Henneth Annun. Very rarely had any but he and his rangers seen the place, and it was forbidden that others know the way in, but he was sure that the rules did not apply to the King of Gondor.

Aragorn pulled Roheryn gently to a halt, and Faramir did the same with Feanor. "Let's rest the horses a bit," the King said, "I'm sure they enjoyed the run, but they also will be wanting rest."

Faramir placed a hand on Feanor's lathered neck as he dismounted. The stallion's nostrils were flared, as were Roheryn's, and he agreed readily to Aragorn's proposal. They led their horses silently to where a stream flowed down from the White Mountains and across the Pellenor, and let the horses take long draughts of the cool water, while their riders also drank and filled their waterskins.

Aragorn lay down on the cool grass near the water, under the shade of the trees. It was good to be free again. He sighed contentedly, wishing they could afford to spend more than a week in the wild. He closed his eyes and soon was asleep, a smile on his face.

He opened his eyes again to find that Faramir was lying nearby, having followed his liege lord's example. Aragorn stood and smiled at his steward, remembering the first time he'd seen him, wracked with fever and near dead, his dark hair damp with sweat, and he'd learned of the abuse his father had given him. It was remarkable that a man who'd suffered like Faramir had could recover like this. "Faramir," he said gently, laying a hand on the Steward's brow.

Faramir's eyes opened. For a moment he wondered if he was in the Houses of Healing again, but shook that idea free when he felt the warm sunlight on his face and remembered where he was. "My lord?" he asked.

Aragorn decided against reprimanding him for not using his given name. "We've rested long enough. It's noonday," he said, looking up at the sky.

Faramir nodded and rose to his feet, blinking, as he took in the clear stream they'd slept beside and the cloudless sky above. It was hard to believe that he was going to be a ranger again, if only for a short time. "I would like to thank you," he said as he saddled Feanor again.

"Thank me?" Aragorn asked, "For what?"

"For inviting me on this journey. I will never be able to repay the debt of gratitude I owe you for all you've done to me," the Steward replied.

Aragorn smiled, "Only that you would consider me a friend, not merely your lord," he said, "And, believe me, Faramir, I needed this journey as much as you." He'd never seen his Steward so relaxed and happy, except on his and Eowyn's wedding day. But, then again, Faramir hadn't had much occasion to be happy in his life, or at ease. He'd had a father who dissaproved of him, and then his brother had died, and his father had burned at the pyre intended also to burn Faramir himself.

But now Faramir seemed to be forgetting these things, he thought, as they mounted again and turned their horses east toward Ithilien, this time at a slow, easy trot. Faramir was completely at ease. Aragorn smiled. Perhaps he was seeing in his Steward prospects for their friendship in the future.

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That night passed uneventfully, and, again, they began riding before dawn and stopped for a short rest at noonday, before continuing their journey. They paused in a small village outside of Ithilien to eat at an inn there, and before they left, a young man, dressed quite a bit finer than the others in the village, came up to them. "Please, my lords, enjoy some of my wine," he offered, holding out the drink in two goblets.

Aragorn took it. "Thank you," he said, "I appreciate your kindness." He took a sip of the wine, which was quite sweet.

But Faramir shook his head. "No thank you, my good man," he replied, "I'm quite full. But I should try some on my way back through."

The man urged him to taste, but Faramir refused, not wanting to be at all drunk while riding, and he and the King mounted their horses and rode out of the village.

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About fifteen minutes after they reached Ithilien, he noticed that Aragorn was holding the reins loosely and sweat beads had formed on his forehead. "My l- Aragorn?" he asked, the King's proper name feeling strange on his tongue.

Aragorn turned to him, and Faramir noticed that his eyes were clouded over and he appeared drowsy. "You're unwell!" he exclaimed, and dismounted, just in time to catch Aragorn as he fell over in a dead faint from the saddle.

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_A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! Three already for the last chapter, and it's only been up a day. I really love your support._

_As for the rest of you reading this now, how am I doing? What needs to be improved? How am I portraying the characters? I'd really like to know!_

_This fic is dedicated to lindahoyland, who inspired me to write Faramir/Aragorn angst. Thank you so much! I hope you're reading this!_

_~Luthien_


	3. A Clever Deception

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Lord of the Rings is the property of Tolkein Estates and New Line Cinema._

_**WARNINGS: This chapter contains scenes that may upset sensitive readers. Rated T for violence.**_

Chapter Three: A Clever Deception

"Aragorn, please," Faramir said, lying the King down gently on the ground. His eyes were glazed over and his breathing was short and pained.

"What has... happened...?" he breathed, each word an effort. His chest heaved up and down rapidly as he fought for breath.

Faramir had had a little training as a healer, from those times he'd taken refuge in the Houses from his father's rage. All he could think of doing in a situation like this was calming the victim and discovering the problem. "Where does it hurt?" he asked, thinking that it would be a good enough start.

Aragorn coughed violently. "Everywhere," he said, his voice trembling.

Faramir hated seeing his lord in this state, no longer even able to move, but still conscious and his eyes begging him to do something. But what?

A twig cracked nearby, and Faramir whirled, drawing his sword quickly. But before he could do anything, a similar blade was at his throat. "Well done, Lord Faramir," said a dark, sinister voice, "You've done everything according to our plan."

Faramir turned to look at his attacker, who was masked, then back at the King, who looked up at him, betrayal in his grey eyes. "You did this to me?" he asked, his voice full of pain.

Faramir's mouth opened slightly in shock, but before he could reply, Aragorn had drifted into unconsciousness. He slipped down beside him, thinking him dead. "No!" he cried, lying his head on Aragorn's chest, "I did not know of this at all, honestly!" He felt tears roll down his cheeks. "I would never betray you! You've done so much for me. You've given me a life I never dreamed of having before."

A sharp kick in his back made him cry in pain. "Up, you," said the voice of his attacker. He stood and looked around. His attacker came close to him, so that their faces were less than an inch apart. "I don't think he'll be rescuing you any time soon," the man laughed raucously as he struck Faramir a blow that rendered him unconscious.

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Aragorn stirred. When he opened his eyes, everything was blurred, and he could make out no distinct shapes. His heart began to beat wildly when he found that he was bound hand and foot. No one knew where he was. Arwen and Eowyn wouldn't worry for a week, and the pain in Aragorn's head told him that his captors, whoever they were, wouldn't let him last that long. Only Faramir knew where he was. Perhaps the Steward would save him... No! This was all Faramir's idea. He was probably sitting with them feasting at the very moment, and drinking to their success. _And my death_, Aragorn thought grimly.

He closed his eyes, seeing the Steward's face. So innocent, so kind, so gentle, as he bent over him while he convulsed in the agony that had led to his capture. He never could have imagined that this man would do this to him. He was angry, bewildered, and sad, that the man he'd brought back from the brink of death would lead him to his own.

Perhaps it was not Faramir, perhaps it was all only a ruse to keep him and his steward from rescuing each other. Perhaps the whole thing was designed to outsmart them. But his hopes were shattered as a door creaked open and two men stepped in. "Is this the fallen King then?" asked someone.

"Yes, Lord Faramir, indeed it is," said the other man. Aragorn listened closely. The man said to be Faramir lacked the Steward's voice, and the chamber was too dark for him to see clearly, but he wore Faramir's clothes, and carried himself with the naturally stiff manner he'd been trained into under Denethor. Aragorn's thoughts were probably muddled by the poison he'd been given, or whatever it had been.

Faramir came forward and kicked him, extremely hard, making Aragorn bite his lip against the pain. How could he do something like this? "Now the throne is mine!" Faramir snarled, "The stewards have ruled for a thousand years. I know how. You'll only cause the kingdom to fall into dissarray. Gondor is mine!" Another kick, and another. Betrayal and pain filled Aragorn's mind as he slipped into a deep, hopeless unconsciousness.

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"Enjoy the accomodations!" said one of the attackers as he shoved Faramir, still dazed and pained from his knock to the head, into a tiny underground chamber. "We'll be back for you later!" The door slammed shut behind his captor, and Faramir was alone in his prison. Silent tears began to run down his face. Aragorn was dead, and he'd died believing Faramir to be a traitor. Now Faramir too would die, and he hoped that perhaps he would be able to reconcile himself to Aragorn in the afterlife, but that was too much. He could have done more. He could have noticed their attackers coming... he...

Suddenly the realization hit him. The wine! It had been poisoned. The young, rich man was in a league with his captors. That was why he had begged so urgently for Faramir to drink as well, so they'd both die. Now Faramir wished that he had. Then he would not have been a traitor in Aragorn's eyes at his death. But... he paused.

"I don't think he'll be rescuing you any time soon," the burly man's voice rang in his ears, and Faramir's heart began to beat wildly. Out of fear or hope, he did not know. But the words had given away something. Aragorn was alive. And, like him, a prisoner. And even though he probably thought Faramir a traitor, the Steward was determined that, even if Aragorn didn't rescue him, he would rescue the King. But first he had to find out who their captors were, and where Aragorn was. He sighed. It would be a while before he could do that, and he'd somehow have to escape the room.

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Aragorn lay huddled against the wall, cold and hurting. He'd severely misjudged Faramir. How could his Steward, who he'd sat with and healed when he was poisoned by the Black Breath, and returned the white rod to when he gave it up, mistreat him this way. He drifted in and out of restless sleep, dreaming of being alone in the woods, and attacked by a band of orcs. The orc leader turned into Faramir and began beating him cruelly with a strand of barbed wire. "The throne is mine!" he shrieked in seeming madness, "Gondor is mine!"

Aragorn awoke, shivering. He hoped against hope that Faramir would not come back to his prison. Anyone but him. He didn't even want to think about the younger man, who had looked so utterly pleased and blissful only moments before he was proven to have been feigning his respect for Aragorn the whole time. He began to sob quietly. He'd be here until he died. No one would come after him; they'd just suspect he and Faramir had decided to stay longer.

Faramir. He'd offered the man his friendship, and this was how he repayed him. As the door opened again, he steeled himself for more pain. It wasn't Faramir this time, but the other man who had come with him. "Ah, I see you are well rested," he curled the tip of a barbed horsewhip around his finger. "And now awake. Good. You should feel the pain well."

As the man tied his wrists above his head to a rafter in the ceiling and stripped his shirt off, Aragorn fancied he could hear cries of agony. But, no, it was only his mind preparing him for what sounds would soon be coming from his own lips.

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Faramir gritted his teeth as the whip cracked in the air and fought to repress a cry of pain as it lacerated his back again, the barbs tearing the skin from his body. Try as he could, he whimpered, tensing.

"I'll enjoy having fun with you," the tormentor laughed hideously, "You actually yell. Unlike some of the other ones." Faramir shivered when he thought of what had happened to the 'other ones.' "His royal majersty will be thinkin' you're the one behind this." He laughed again, and pulled something from his waist. Faramir's body was wracked with spasms of horror as he saw Anduril's blade gleaming in the half-light.

"Ring a bell?" asked the torturer, "Took it off of him while 'e was out cold." He dropped the sword down the privy, to Faramir's horror. Then he coiled the whip again. Faramir sent up a silent prayer that the Valar would be merciful and just let him die now.

But they heard nothing, and yet another stroke fell across Faramir's torn and bloodied back. He focused his mind on one thing as his head became light and dizzy and he neared unconsciousness. He would find Aragorn and free him, and, somehow, get him back to Minas Tirith. What happened to himself he did not care. Only he would get Aragorn out of the clutches of these men, whoever they were.

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_A/N: This chapter changed the rating of my story. But I will tell you all that there is still, as in all of my stories, no sex or slash. And there never will be._

_**Winterfell:**__Thank you so much! I'm glad you like my work enough to point out some tips. I too am a horse person, but I always thought Roheryn was a stallion, so I portray him thus. I understand that the horses would probably end up fighting, but I guess there are exceptions, and since they were stabled beside each other with no mares in sight, perhaps they'd tolerate each other. But Thank you so much for your helpful reviews! I'll really think about your cliffhanger suggestion._

_Again, thanks very much to lindahoyland, my inspiration._

_~Luthien_


	4. When Darkness Falls

_Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and its characters and lands belong to the Tolkein Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story is for my enjoyment, not profit._

_**WARNINGS: This chapter includes content that may upset sensitive readers, including but not limited to violence, torture, and vague reference to adult themes. Rated T.**_

Chapter Four- When Darkness Falls

Faramir slumped senseless to the ground when the ropes around his wrists were cut. His captors gave him a final kick in the ribs and left, laughing. Faramir's head swam; he was not sure if he were conscious or not. He could feel the burning pain in his back, which had been beaten so badly that there was not a place left without a lash over it. He could barely breathe without biting back a cry of pain. Never before had he been so brutally treated. Yes, he'd been often beaten as a child, but never like this, and usually with a stout branch, a rod, or a willow switch. Never with a horsewhip.

Faramir struggled to raise his head, to assure himself that they were gone, and was quickly struck across the face by one who remained in the room. "Why did you take us?" he asked. It took all his strength and resolve just to say the words.

"Why?" asked the man, "Well, because we thought, you bein' King n' Steward n' all, you'd 'ave somethin' worth stealin'." He snorted, "Ain't that what bandits do?"

So they hadn't been captured by usurpers. They'd been captured by the very highwaymen that they'd meant to erradicate on this trip. How ironic. And now poor Aragorn was somewhere thinking that Faramir, in a plot to take the throne, had arranged this. Faramir closed his eyes, wishing the bandit would leave. The highwaymen of Ithilien, as Faramir had known them during his ranger days, were quite cruel and brutal. It was now even more important to get the King out of their clutches.

"Unfort'nately," the highwayman continued, "Ye hadn't a cent on ye. So, bein' as we went through all that trouble to get ye, we decided we'd have a little fun." He laughed and left the prison, slamming the door behind him.

Faramir grimaced as he dragged himself against the stone wall. He had no idea where they were, only that he had to get Aragorn out. The wounds from the whip stung, and Faramir fought to remain conscious. He had to think of something. But thinking was too painful, and he let himself slide under the black surface of unconsciousness.

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Aragorn cried in pain as Faramir's foot caught him in the gut. "Oh, does that hurt, your highness?" he asked, his voice riddled with mock sympathy. Faramir had changed so much from the man he'd ridden out with. Even his voice was different, deeper and more guttural and laced with hatred. He couldn't understand. Why? What had he done that made the Steward hate him so?

When the door slammed closed after his torturers left, Aragorn wept, curled up against the wall. He went swiftly into an uneasy sleep, and dreamed again of Faramir. This time it was he who was dreaming of what he would do to the Steward if he caught him.

He gave Faramir a sharp kick, and drew Anduril.

Faramir's eyes were filled with pain and horror. "Please, my lord! I didn't do it!" he cried, "I knew nothing!" He began to sob.

Aragorn gave him a cold look. There was something else in those eyes, deceit. He had usurped Aragorn and taken the throne for himself, and now he didn't want to pay the consequences. Aragorn's gaze hardened and he thrust the sword into Faramir's chest, piercing his heart. The Steward screamed in agony, tears flowing down his fair cheeks, and his body convulsed and lay still, his blood splashed up onto Aragorn's hands and clothes.

Aragorn awoke with a start. His body was lathered in a cold sweat, and, as he looked down, he gasped in horror when he saw that the blood was indeed there. Had he really killed Faramir? Then he remembered that it was his own blood, and Faramir had given him his wounds.

How could he? Aragorn felt tears roll down his face. He was utterly alone now, and doomed to death and torture. He just didn't understand why Faramir would do something like this. For someone so honest, he was a good liar. If Aragorn ever got out, he would have to have him executed. With a sigh of pain, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

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"How long will we be able to stay here?" Faramir asked, lying blissfully on the cool grass while the wind whisked his dark hair pleasantly. The stream bubbled and gurgled nearby as it made its way to join Anduin.

"As long as you want," Aragorn replied, in much the same situation as he. They lay together on their backs watching the clouds drift by for a while. It was peaceful and all was right in their lives. If only it could be like this forever, Faramir thought, closing his eyes and letting sleep take him.

His eyes opened on pain and darkness. He was confused, then he remembered where he was. He stiffly stood to his feet and leaned against the wall, surprised that his legs found the strength to move. It wasn't so bad, he thought, only a whipping. Though it was a harsh one. He could have suffered much worse. With a grimace he found a rug on the floor, obviously meant to be a bed, and lay down on his stomach. He suddenly realized he was wearing a scratchy sackcloth shirt and breeches, and wondered in horror where his other clothes had gone. His mind could barely grasp the fact that they'd undressed him while he was unconscious.

Then another thought hit him like a kick in the gut. Had that been all they'd done? Bandits were rough folk, and immoral ones, but would they really go so far as... He shook his head violently, feeling colour rise in his cheeks and drain again. No, it was not possible. They wouldn't do something like that.

He took a breath to calm himself. Whatever they did, it didn't matter. All Faramir needed to do was focus on freeing the King from their clutches. He braced himself and stood, walking over to the door and peering through the tiny barred window. Torchlight came from outside, and he looked down either way and saw rows of cells like his. These bandits indeed liked to 'have fun' with the ones they robbed, he thought grimly. But where was their lair? And where was Aragorn?

Footsteps made him turn and peer down the aisle, and the whip-wielding torturer came down the hall with a cat o' nine tails, flicking it gleefully as he made his way toward Faramir's cell. _No, please, no,_ he sent up a silent prayer to the Valar as he began slowly to back away. But the torturer passed his cell and went on. Faramir thought he recognized the man's clothing as he passed, but he wasn't sure. Then, he realized that this would be when he may find out Aragorn's whereabouts. He moved back by the window and watched through it. The man lifted a bar on a door five cells to the left of Faramir's, and a moment later Faramir heard a sharp cry of pain.

He quickly withdrew from the window and pressed against the wall, his face pale and drawn. There was no doubt in his mind. The cry was Aragorn's,

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_To be continued..._

_A/N: Thanks again for the reviews! I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while, but the internet hasn't been working well lately. Hope everyone liked the big update!_

_As always, please review. I don't mind flames, but I'd prefer constructive criticism. And I'd like to know if 'my' characters are portrayed well enough._

_Thank's for reading and reviewing!_

_~Luthien_


	5. The Flame of the West

_Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, its characters, and its lands are owned by Tolkein Estates and New Line Cinemas. _

_**WARNINGS: This chapter includes content that may upset sensitive readers, including, but not limited to, graphic descriptions of wounds and torture. Rated T.**_

Chapter Five- The Flame of the West

Aragorn raised his head as the door to the cell opened. His heart sank when he saw Faramir there, flicking a cat o' ninetails. Before the Steward could beat him, he said, "Why, Faramir? What did I do to make you despise me?" in a quiet voice. He was, indeed, more sad than angry at Faramir's betrayal.

Faramir snorted. "I wonder why you don't know yourself, o fount of infinite wisdom," he retorted. There it was again. Faramir's voice wasn't quite right. It was different now than before. But Aragorn owed it to the fact that he'd been beaten nearly senseless. "The line of Elendil has no claim to the throne of Gondor. For a thousand years, the stewards have ruled, and I think it's time we take the throne for ourselves." His tone was haughty and menacing. Aragorn had never heard Faramir speak that way, until now. He was again surprised at how well the Steward could hide his true feelings towards him, and wondered why Arwen had suggested the trip. Perhaps Faramir had planted the idea in her mind.

Faramir kicked him onto his stomach and began to beat him with the whip. Aragorn bit his lip but couldn't retain a cry of agony. He closed his eyes to wait until it was all over. Why had this happened? Aragorn's tears flowed freely though he didn't let it show.

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Faramir tried to calm himself, but his horror was replaced with rage. How dare they mistreat Aragorn? Usually so gentle and peaceful, Faramir saw red. If he ever got his hands on those miscreants...

But first he'd have to escape. And that seemed nearly impossible. His anger evaporated, leaving him spent and broken hearted. If only he'd tried harder to fight the highwaymen. If only he'd stayed longer in the village, where people could have helped them. He should have fought them, though he die trying. No, instead he'd merely sat back and let them take Aragorn and torture him. _I did betray him_, he thought with horror, _In the worst possible way. _

He forced himself back to the door, each step agony, and peered once more through the window. The doors weren't locked; there were only wooden bars on the outside. He put his finger into the crack between the door and the wall and found that this was the same for his own door. His spirits lifted a bit when he realized that escape would be a lot easier than it seemed to be. But they fell again when he tried pushing up on the bar. It was firmly slid into another wooden bracket, so that it could only be opened from the outside. He'd need something to break it. But, by the way it felt, he knew it was strong, stout wood. If only he had an axe! He picked up a small stone and bounced it up and down in his palm, trying to think, but, again, his head pounded. He put a hand where it hurt, on the back near his neck, and found that his hair was matted and clotted with blood, which still seeped from a deep gash. No wonder he'd been unconscious. He couldn't remember the blow falling, but he knew that one minute they were in Ithilien, and the next he was in this prison cell. _How long was I knocked out cold?_ he thought with dread. He wondered what manner of things his captors had done to him while he was.

His eyes had long adjusted to the dim cell, lit only by the torchlight from the long hallway. He tossed the small stone away, aiming at the hole in the privy, when he was struck by a sudden idea. He thought back to his first torture session. His captor had wielded Anduril then.

_"Ring a bell? Took it off 'im while 'e was out cold."_

The man had then dropped Aragorn's sword down the privy. Faramir's heart began to beat faster. The great blade would surely be able to split the wooden bar on the door! As for Aragorn's, he could simply open it from the outside.

He made his way over to the privy and saw, to his dismay, that it was too deep to simply reach down and take the sword. Fortunately, though, he thought he could fit through the hole. Taking a deep breath, Faramir carefully lowered himself through.

It was dank and foul smelling, and every breath made him cough as he eased his way down into the darkness. Very slowly he let himself hang by his arms, and felt with his feet for the ground. He grimaced and bit back a cry of pain as his wounds, which had been dried and stuck to his shirt, reopened, and he felt warm blood trickle down his back. There was no ground to stand on. It had to be deeper still. Faramir wondered if he should attempt to descend further, and gritted his teeth. He had to get the King's sword. With his heart racing, he let go, free-falling for a few seconds, and landing with a splash. Trying not to think of where he was, he felt around in the mire until he felt something sharp cut his finger, and he yelped.

Faramir found the flat edge of the blade, and ran his fingers along it until he found the handle. He gripped it and pulled it out of the mire. Hope sprung up inside him, but faded again as he looked up and saw a small circle of light; the entrance to the privy. It would be the most painful thing he'd ever do to climb up the well-like structure, and he'd probably scrape his back even worse. But he had to do it. For Aragorn, and for all of Gondor.

Slowly and resolutely, he pressed his flayed back to the stone wall and his feet to the one opposite him. He began to scoot upwards, tears of pain flowing down his cheeks as he bit back cries of agony as the rough stone tore into his flesh. He nearly fell several times as the stones were slick with his own blood, but at last he could see a little light. It wasn't far now to the top. With a final gasp of pain, his head came out, then he hauled the rest of his body back into the cell, clutching Anduril's hilt tightly. To him, the faint torchlight through the window was blinding after the total darkness down the privy, but he welcomed it, and the fact that he didn't feel as if there were snakes coiling around his ankles in the filthy mire.

He lay on his stomach, exhausted with the effort it took to retrieve the sword, breathing hard and trying not to think about the pain from his freshly-scraped back. The mire was still there; it was all over Faramir and Anduril. The Steward forced himself to stand and shove the sword behind something as he heard footsteps outside the door, but, thank the Valar, it was only Aragorn's tormentor leaving the prison. That was one good thing about being down the privy; Faramir couldn't hear the King's screams. He moved to go over to the door and escape, but exhaustion overtook him and he slipped into a deep sleep.

In his dreams, he stood on a grassy hill with Eowyn and a little boy and girl. The boy was fair haired and grey eyed, and the girl dark haired and blue eyed. He and Eowyn stood together with the wind in their faces and watched the children play. They could only have been five years old. The little girl rushed into his arms and exclaimed, "Ada! Tell us a story!"

The boy was close behind, and Faramir, Eowyn, and their children sat down on the grass and listened as Faramir told a story about when he was an Ithilien ranger. It was a blissful afternoon, and not a cloud in the sky. Faramir heard very light footsteps and turned to see Aragorn, Arwen, and another little boy, about six months older than Faramir's own children, coming up the hill. Aragorn and Faramir walked through the field together as their wives talked and the children played, all having a good time and a peaceful one.

Faramir awoke, his dream having given him strength. He knew in his heart that it was no ordinary dream. It was a foresight into what his life could be like if he succeeded. He clenched his jaw firmly and climbed to his feet, and withdrew Anduril from its hiding place. Slowly but steadily he made his way to the door and fitted the blade through the crack. He lifted it high above his head and swung it downward with all the strength he could muster. There was a splintering crash, and the door swung open slightly.

Faramir's heart raced as he gave the door an experimental push. He was rewarded with it opening further, and he pushed harder, gripping the hilt of Anduril firmly in his hand. At last, the last of the wooden bar splintered and the door swung open into the torchlit hallway.

He narrowed his eyes, squinting against the hall's brightness, and slowly and stiffly made his way down the hall, counting off the doors as he went. One, two, three, four, five. This was Aragorn's cell, he was almost sure. Taking a deep breath, he slid back the wooden bar and opened the door.

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_To be continued..._

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reviews! I hope you enjoyed Faramir's little excursion down the privy. It really could be quite amusing under different circumstances, I think..._

_As always, I'd love to hear how I'm doing! Please review, and I'll see you next time!_

_~Luthien_


	6. To Lay Down One's Life

_Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, its characters, and its lands are the property of Tolkein Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was not written for profit, but for my own enjoyment._

_**WARNINGS: This chapter contains material that may upset sensitive readers, including, but not limited to, torture and wounds.**_

Chapter Six- To Lay down One's Life

"_Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends."-John 15:13_

Aragorn jerked backwards to the wall as the cell door opened. Faramir had just left. Why would he come back? For whatever reason he had, Aragorn didn't desire at all to be beaten again. But it seemed as if the traitorous Steward had other plans.

Sure enough, when the door opened, Faramir stood there, but, to Aragorn's horror, instead of a whip, he held in his hand Anduril. What madness was this? Was he going to slay him with his own blade? Aragorn began to believe that Denethor's madness was not merely his own; that it was a trait that ran in his family. Had not Boromir also succumbed to the temptation of the Ring and gone mad in his own right? And Denethor had been driven to madness by the palantir. Faramir had been driven by... what? His own desire for power, doubtlessly.

Faramir came into the cell tentatively, moving very stiffly, his face white. Aragorn wondered what phantom he'd seen, then noticed that this Faramir was far thinner than the Faramir who'd tortured him, and his face was the one he remembered, and instead of Faramir's ranger clothing, this Faramir was dressed in a rough, ill-fitting sackcloth shirt and breeches and was covered in stinking grime.

_What sort of drunken mischief has he gotten himself into now?_ Aragorn asked himself, giving Faramir a wary look. He was surprised that the Steward hadn't barged in and immediately begun torture. What was wrong? Faramir's grey eyes appeared several shades lighter and his lips were pressed tightly together, and he looked as if he was about to faint.

Faramir had expected to find Aragorn bloody and beaten, but he'd never expected to see the King like this. He was more than just bloody. Their captors had cruelly abused him and beaten him with their fists as well as kicking him, it seemed by the many purplish bruises covering his body, and there was an angry red welt across his face where he'd been whipped, and his left eye was swollen shut.

Faramir paled, gripping the sword hilt tighter. He felt guilty, so guilty. This was all his fault. If only he'd thought of a way to escape sooner... He paused, pushing the thoughts from his mind. He hadn't, and there was no way of going back. All he could do now was get himself and Aragorn away from here.

Slowly relaxing his grip on the sword, he made his way stiffly to his lord's side, only to have Aragorn lash out and back away from him. "Get away, traitor!" the King said, though his voice held fear and dread.

Faramir lurched backwards, taken aback, but then he remembered. He should have been expecting this to happen. The last time Aragorn had seen him, he was being congratulated by the bandits for helping to capture him. He sighed deeply and slowly, as if not to frighten a wounded beast, he knelt down and placed Anduril on the ground, keeping his eyes always locked on Aragorn's.

Aragorn found Faramir's haunted look disquieting, and pulled himself a bit further away, though he could not break eye contact with the Steward. He searched Faramir's eyes for any hint of the hatred he'd seen in his eyes only a few moments before, but there was none. Only pain, fear, and dread. A thought formed in his mind that, perhaps, Faramir hadn't really done it. If he had been his tormentor, why was he wearing different attire, and why had his general manner changed back to the way he'd known previously? But he banished the hope from his mind. It was too much to hope that, and he knew it. Faramir had betrayed him.

The Steward now rose again to his feet, leaving the sword on the ground, and raised his palms in the air to show that he was unarmed. Aragorn noted that they were rubbed and scraped raw, and wondered again if he had been lied to about Faramir's disloyalty.

"I do not mean to harm you," Faramir said in a quiet, submissive voice, though he kept his eyes firmly locked on Aragorn's.

"How can you even dare to say that?" Aragorn snorted, "When harming me is all you've done since I was taken captive by you and your fellow hooligans?" He put his hand over the bleeding welt across his face, fury in his blood.

Faramir collapsed to the ground by his feet and began to weep. "I do not know what you speak of!" he sobbed, bowing his head to the ground, "I've never raised a hand against you." He raised his head, and Aragorn looked into his grey eyes. There was no deceit there. Only unwavering loyalty. He then for the first time saw that Faramir's own back was flayed and bloodied. And he realized that his captors had indeed lied to him.

His anger towards Faramir was redirected to them, and he pulled the Steward close to him. "I'm sorry, Faramir," he said, quietly, ignoring the pain that moving caused, "They told me that you..." tears welled in his eyes, some of guilt, but mostly of joy in knowing that his Steward hadn't betrayed him after all, but had always been loyal.

Faramir leaned his head against Aragorn's shoulder. "I- I know," he said, "I heard. But I never, ever thought they would do this to you," he grimaced as he caught sight of Aragorn's wounds again, and pulled back. Now he understood why they'd stolen his clothing, to further implant the thought that he was a traitor in Aragorn's mind. "We must get out," he said, reaching for Anduril, to return the blade to its rightful owner, dirty though it may be. But the sword wouldn't budge, and he saw that Aragorn was no longer looking at him, but above his head, with an expression of horror on his features.

His heart racing again, Faramir turned around to see one of the bandits, the one who'd impersonated him. He bit his lip, his spirits dying in dread, as he caught the man's eyes. "A 'appy reunion?" asked the highwayman, "How touching. But it ain't nearly touchin' enough. I'm gonna 'ave some fun with 'is majesty." He brandished a rusted knife and began to move in on Aragorn menacingly, like a wolf preparing to slay its cornered prey.

This was too much for Faramir to bear. They had been so close to freedom, to being away from these monsters. And now it was over. They would kill Aragorn and take the throne for themselves. Suddenly, Faramir thought of an announcement that Aragorn had made at a council meeting a month ago. The Queen was expecting his child. His heart sank at the very thought that Aragorn's son would never know his father.

At that moment, Faramir knew what he had to do. No matter how painful it may be for him, or how terrible, he must do it. Aragorn must return home to Arwen and his unborn child, and he must die in his place. "Do not hurt him anymore!" he said, startling everyone, even himself.

The highwaymen turned to him. "And, why wouldn't we hurt him? It's good fun," he laughed raucously, and Faramir shuddered inwardly.

"H-have me instead," he stammered, "Do what you'd like. Just let him go free. Do anything to me," he looked down, then met the man's eyes pleadingly.

A wicked, evil gleam came into them, and Faramir began to regret his words. However, as long as Aragorn could return to Minas Tirith safely, he would do whatever it took. "Anything?" asked the man, coming towards him and pulling him to his feet, his breath rank against Faramir's face.

The Steward gulped and he felt faint, but he forced himself to meet his captor's eyes. "A-anything," he said firmly.

The bandit looked satisfied. "Come over here then," he motioned with a finger.

"No!" Aragorn gasped, "Don't hurt Faramir!" he struggled to his feet, but the bandit ignored him.

"Your Steward has made a very fitting offer, and I think I shall accept it. Now, come 'ere!" He pulled Faramir over to him.

Faramir shook his head and choked out the words, "Let him go first. I-I want to see him leave safely." He knew that if their captors had their way, they'd do what they wished to Aragorn once he'd died. But he wasn't going to take any chances with that.

"Alright," the bandit grunted, "Come on, you." He gripped Faramir's neck with one hand. "And no funny business," he said. Faramir grimaced as his fingers closed around his neck. He could very easily kill him right then.

The man brought them down a winding hallway and to a cave's mouth. Faramir, having been in the area many times, instantly recognized the place; five miles south from Henneth Annun. "May I please bid my lord farewell?" he asked, an idea to secure Aragorn's escape forming in his mind, "I give you my word that I will not escape."

His captor gave him a cold, thoughtful look. "Alright," he said again, "But if ye do, I'll track ye down and you'll wish you'd never done it." Faramir nodded, and he released his hold on the Steward's neck.

Faramir drew Aragorn aside. "I expect you did not merely want to bid me farewell," Aragorn said in the high elven tongue.

Faramir shook his head. "No. I must tell you of a place. It was a hidden outpost of the Ithilien rangers, called Henneth Annun. It is a cave behind a waterfall, but the path to it is concealed. I do not think, though, you should have any trouble finding it. Do you hear the stream?" he asked in the same tongue.

Aragorn listened closely and heard the sound of rushing water. He nodded. "Yes."

"Good," Faramir said, "Find it and follow it north for five miles. Once you find a split boulder, turn to the west, and walk for another mile until you come to a rocky area. In between two boulders a small path begins. Follow it and you will come to Henneth Annun. Perhaps some of the Ithilien rangers will still be there, and can help you, but if not, there are enough supplies there to last for several months, including healing supplies." He looked over his shoulder. His captor was begining to get impatient.

Aragorn clenched his jaw, but Faramir saw that his eyes were moist. "Thank you, my friend. I'm sorry for ever thinking you to be a traitor," he said sadly, thinking that this was the last time he would ever see the young man he'd brought back from the jaws of death.

Faramir bowed respectfully. "I would have done the same, had I been in your situation," he said, "There is no need to apologize." The formality seemed to return to his voice, Aragorn thought unhappily. He had hoped that at least now his awkwardness would have left.

Impulsively, Aragorn drew Faramir close to him and embraced the Steward. "There is every need," he said, "I should have known." His shoulder grew damp from Faramir's silent tears, and he felt him relax slightly. "You should not have sacrificed yourself for me," he said.

Faramir drew back and shook his head. "No, my lord," he said, "I swore an oath of fealty. I will not let you die when it is in my power to save you." His eyes met Aragorn's, and through a haze of tears, he saw that the King was also trying to keep back tears.

"Please, Faramir, just this last time, simply call me Aragorn," he said, "Why should what is to be our last meeting be tainted with the formality of the court?" He put his hands on the younger man's shoulders.

Faramir bowed his head, blinking. "It just seems so strange," he said, "The sovereign begging me to be informal. My father always told me that I must retain my formality and respect at all time."

"I am not Denethor," Aragorn replied, "I am not like him. I know it is hard for you to adjust, but I am convinced you would have, in time. But I suppose this was not to be. Farewell, my friend. I would rescue you from their clutches if I had the choice, but I fear it may be too late."

Faramir nodded, his stomach in a hard knot. "Yes, I believe so. Please promise me one thing, Aragorn?" he asked, his eyes pleading. "Please tell me you will take care of Eowyn, and bring these men to justice."

Aragorn gripped his shoulders reassuringly. He was surprised at how calm Faramir was, facing certain death. "I promise that your death will not go unnoticed. Eowyn will be cared for until she returns to Rohan, and I promise you that you'll always have a place in Gondor's heritage." His own heart was breaking. Faramir had shown so much promise, he would have been the best Steward Aragorn could have hoped for; the only one he wanted. But he tried to be strong himself for Faramir's sake. "I will never forget you, my friend."

Faramir laid his head on the King's shoulder. "Should I have lived, I would have gladly served you my whole life. I would not desire my death to be anything but this."

They parted. "Be at peace, Faramir son of Denethor," Aragorn said, before making his slow, painful way into Ithilien, Anduril at his side. He looked over his shoulder once more at Faramir as the bandit gripped his neck once more and shoved him back into the cave. He didn't have time to grieve now, for he had to put miles between him and Faramir's slayers. He knew the Steward would hold out as long as he could to give him more time, and he wished he'd never fallen for his tormentor's lies. Then he turned back into the woods, moving as quickly as possible with his wounds, hoping that Faramir's rangers would perhaps be in Henneth Annun, and that he could bring them to rescue Faramir before it was too late, or at least serve justice to his murderers.

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_To Be Continued..._

_A/N: I guess I'm back to my daily updating. The next chapter will be mainly focused on Aragorn's journey to Henneth Annun, and what he finds there. But, as usual, no spoilers allowed. _

_I'm sure that you know that I won't be killing Faramir. Only giving him a lot of wounds. Poor thing. _

_Please review! Every review I get helps Faramir get closer to being saved!_

_~Luthien_


	7. A Star of Hope

_Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, its characters, and its lands are property of Tolkein Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was not written for profit, but for my own enjoyment._

_**WARNINGS: This chapter includes mildly graphic content, including, but not limited to, descriptions of wounds. Rated K+**_

Chapter Seven- A Star of Hope

Aragorn splashed through the narrow stream until he came to a small, concealed cleft where the water flowed down. He eased himself down into a seated position and let the refreshing, cool water run down his body, sighing in relief as the pain from his inflamed wounds lessened.

But it did nothing for the pain in his heart, and he forced himself back on his feet and to the water's edge, and he began plodding upriver again, only the hope that he may find help at Faramir's outpost keeping him going.

It was dark when he heard footsteps in the woods behind him. "'E went this way!" came a rough shout. Aragorn's heart sank with dread as he realized he was being tracked already. Did they kill Faramir so soon? No matter. He would not let himself be taken. He had to get back to Arwen, Eowyn, and his unborn child. Quiet as he could, which was almost soundless, as he'd spent most of his life as a ranger, he slipped back into the stream and waded upriver for a while, before finding a small cave behind a small waterfall. He ducked inside and waited, hoping that his pursuers would be thrown off the chase.

He heard their footfalls clattering and slipping against the wet rocks, and couldn't help but smile a bit at their inexperience. These highwaymen were no rangers. He heaved a sigh of relief as they hurried past his hiding place, and he waited for a few moments to make sure they were gone before leaving and slipping into the woods on the side of the stream, where, if they came back this way, they wouldn't find him. When he had gone for nearly another mile upstream, it was beginning to get dark.

Aragorn despaired of ever finding Henneth Annun. Perhaps, had he not been wounded, he would be able to find it, but not now. He sat down on the ground next to a large boulder and watched Ithil rise into the sky.

Now the full realization of what had happened over the past few days hit him. He had believed the bandits that Faramir had organized his capture, and even imagined killing the Steward, only to have Faramir lay down his own life that Aragorn may have a chance to live. If only he had not been so easily swayed. At first, he had wondered if Faramir was merely lying, but when he saw that he'd also been cruelly treated, he'd known that he was telling the truth. He should have gotten them to let him free.

But, no, their tormentor was too satisfied with Faramir's ultimate submission to his will to accept any offering of Aragorn's. And, perhaps this was his point, to let him live with the guilt of Faramir's death on his life.

He stayed there for a while, thinking about the day they'd set out. How could he have imagined that such a perfect day could go so wrong? At that moment, dark clouds covered the sky, and the light was cut off, and it would be safe for him to travel.

He forced himself to stand again, and continue his way upstream. The sharp stones cut his bare feet, and he thought ruefully how clever the highwaymen had been to take their shoes. His feet were now raw and blistered, and would soon fester if they weren't tended to. He sat with them in the cool stream for a moment, washing the cuts and blisters clean, and he wrapped them in pieces of cloth he tore off of his shirt.

Then, with a sigh of exhaustion and hopelessness, he turned upriver, pausing to get a few leaves of _Athelas_ from beside the boulder where he had been sitting. The scent reminded him of Faramir, and he looked up to the dark sky, tears welling in his eyes. "_Mellon-nin_," he whispered, and a flicker caught his eye.

Earendil's star rose high in the heavens. Aragorn looked up it. The clouds cleared, and Ithil's light shone brightly alongside it, lighting up the wood around him with a mystical, silvery light. Aragorn suddenly saw that across from him, there was an identical boulder to the one he stood by. The ground between was slightly worn, and the larger stones had been drawn aside. To an untrained eye, it would seem like nothing. But Aragorn saw it clearly. A path.

_"In between two boulders a small path begins. Follow it and you will come to Henneth Annun."_

Faramir's parting words rang in his ears. He looked back up at the star. _A star of hope_, he thought, and said a silent prayer of thanks. "Farewell, Faramir," he whispered, "May your spirit be at peace." And with that, he set his feet on the path and made his slow, painful way along it.

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The path seemed to go on forever, and it was very hard to follow, often leading off and doubling back on itself to throw off anyone who happened to find it. Aragorn once again thanked his ranger training, managing to successfully find the right path.

As he went deeper into Ithilien, he hoped that he wouldn't be waylaid by any other trouble, for he was not sure that he would survive it. His feet began to hurt again, feeling like every step was over hot coals, and his stripes and other wounds had begun to fester and pained him. Every move he made was agony, and he closed his eyes, letting the feeling of the smoother path under his feet guide him.

Suddenly, he felt, instead of pebbles or leaves, cool, flat stone under his feet. He opened his eyes, and saw to his relief that he was standing in the mouth of a cave. The tunnel went into darkness, but Aragorn saw stairs a few meters in. He was safe at last.

He stumbled in, until he was hidden inside the cave, but not all of the way in, for he had no matches and didn't much relish the idea of groping his way to the chambers beyond, especially not in his condition.

He lowered himself carefully and painfully down to the ground. The cool wall of the cavern felt good on his burning back, and he leaned his head back and was asleep within a few minutes.

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The two rangers made their weary way back to the outpost. "I can't believe they gave us the slip again," one said, shaking his head, "Those robbers plague Ithilien worse than the enemy's minions did."

His companion scuffed the ground with his boot. "It's like they dissapear. Always at the same place. They must have some sort of hideout, Malborn."

Malborn sighed. "We'll have to find it," he said gruffly, "We'll have to find where they're holed up. The robbings were bad enough, but when the victims started to dissapear as well, they had to be stopped. If only Captain Faramir were still here. He'd know what to do."

The other ranger nodded. "Yes, he's ambushed so many Southrons, orcs, and Easterlings that this would be child's play."

They reached the head of the trail to the entrance to Henneth Annun. Malborn stopped short. "Lindir, look here." He bent to the ground, touching the side of the boulder gently. In the fading moonlight, he could see blood splattered there.

Lindir bowed his head in concentration. "There's more. It seems to follow the path."

Malborn was confused. How had someone found the path? There weren't very many rangers left in Ithilien, and he was quite sure that none were gravely wounded. And they would have gone straight back to Henneth Annun, not stopped to rest.

But how had an outsider found the path to Henneth Annun? "We must make haste," Malborn said, "It could be a spy for one of those robbers. And if he gets away, he could tell their leaders the whereabouts of our outpost."

Malborn and Lindir quickened their pace, running up the path. The trail of blood continued up all the way to the cave, and went inside. There, they noticed that it was bloody footprints. "They go inside, but they don't come out."

The rangers drew their swords and stepped silently into the cave.

They paused for a moment, letting their eyes adjust to the dimness, not wanting to light a torch in case they alerted the trespasser.

When they could see clearly, what they saw shocked them. There on the floor, bleeding, lay Gondor's king.

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_To be continued..._

_A/N: This chapter was really hard to write._

_Replies to Reviews: _

_**lindahoyland-**__ Yeah. I was going to keep them adverse for a little while, but my muse had different ideas. Besides, Aragorn had more time to be traumatized and convinced of Faramir's treachery in Web of Treason._

_**Fantasychica37-**__ I thought about that too. I guess that the fact that Faramir was beaten as well would be a telltale sign that the highwaymen were lying..._

_Namaarie!_

_~Luthien_


	8. The Last Hope

_Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, its characters, and its lands are property of Tolkein Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was not written for profit, but for my own enjoyment._

_**WARNINGS-This chapter includes mildly graphic content, including, but not limited to, descriptions of wounds and medical angst. Rated K+.**_

Chapter Eight- The Last Hope

"This is impossible," Malborn muttered as they lay Aragorn down on a bedroll. "Why would the King be in Ithilien?" he got a bowl of water from the falls and began washing the wounds.

"And how was he thus wounded?" Lindir asked as he came to help.

Malborn shook his head. "He's been beaten," he said, disgust in his tone, "And abused. Who would dare to do this to the King of Gondor and Arnor?" He spat to the side as he washed the dirt off of Aragorn's blistered feet.

"Doubtless it has something to do with the robbers," Lindir said, his voice scornful. "If only we'd erradicated them sooner!"

Aragorn stirred. He heard voices. _No, please no..._ He thought, _Don't let them have found me..._ His eyes flickered open. Two men bent over him, tending to his hurts. Though everything was blurry, he was quite sure that they were not his captors. If they were, they would be hurting him more, not helping him.

He blinked as his vision cleared, and he tried to remember what had happened. Faramir's sacrifice, his escape. He opened his eyes wider, though the left one was still quite swollen, and saw that the men were wearing the garb of Ithilien rangers.

His heart leapt with joy as he realized that he was safe.

Malborn saw that he was awake. "My lord?" he asked in soft, respectful tones. "What happened to you?" he continued washing Aragorn's many wounds while Lindir brought bandages and healing herbs from the supply, once again wishing Captain Faramir was still here, for he had at least had some training in healing.

Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, to tell about everything, but his throat was parched and dry, and all he managed to choke out was, "Faramir..." before coughing.

Malborn put his hand on Aragorn's chest to calm him. "Easy," he said, turning and giving Lindir a confused look at the mention of their former captain.

Aragorn tried to push himself up into a sitting position. "No..." he gasped, "They... have Faramir." He coughed again, giving up the attempt to sit. "They'll kill him." He let himself lie back down again as tears pricked his eyes again.

Lindir held a cup of water to Aragorn's lips. "Here," he said, "Drink, my lord. And rest. Then tell us." He put a pillow behind Aragorn's head.

Aragorn closed his eyes and coughed once before falling back asleep. He was glad that he was safe, but his dreams were haunted by Faramir's pale face, contorted in agony as he was tortured to death. Somehow, though, he never died. Though over and over again he came close to it, he still lived, holding on to the thin threads that held his soul to his body, in some hope that he could still be saved.

Aragorn, in his state of subconsciousness, realized that this dream was a sign that his Steward yet lived.

"We must send word to Minas Tirith," Malborn told Lindir, "I am sure that the Lady Eowyn and the Queen would like to know of the misfortune that has befallen the King and the Steward."

Lindir nodded. "Yes," he said, "I will send a message to the city with Halmund when he returns from patrol." He sat down at a desk and began writing a letter adressed to Lady Eowyn.

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"A message for the Lady Eowyn," came the young ranger's voice.

Eowyn sighed and took the folded letter from the stony-faced Halmund. "Thank you," she said. Perhaps it was from her husband and the King. It had been a week and two days now, and they should be coming home soon.

Arwen's came into the hall where she held the letter. "What is that?" she asked.

Eowyn turned to her, "A message from Ithilien," she said, holding the paper up for Arwen to see. "I wonder what it could be."

She and Arwen went into the sitting room, where Arwen took the letter from her and examined the handwriting on the front. "It is not Estel's handwriting," she said, "Nor is it Faramir's," her fair elven brow knitted in thought. "In fact, I do not recognize it at all." She looked up, handing it back to Eowyn.

Eowyn also looked it over. "I do not recognize it either," she said, "Perhaps it has nothing to do with them." She sounded a bit too hopeful.

Arwen shook her head. "It doesn't seem quite right. I feel a foreboding. Open it and see what tidings it brings." She sat back as Eowyn opened the letter and read.

"_To Lady Eowyn and her majesty the Queen of Gondor, with respect,_

_Yestereve, the sixth of September, 3019, Malborn, son of Elbarad, Lieutenant of the rangers of Ithilien, and I found his majesty Elessar King of Gondor and Arnor in the outpost of Henneth Annun. He was alone and wounded, and Malborn and I tended to his wounds._

_When he awoke, he spoke of Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, being held captive, nearly certainly by a band of highwaymen that has grown prominent here in Ithilien during the past few months, and under threat of death._

_I regret to inform you that the wherabouts of Lord Faramir and his captors are unknown, but we will do our best to ascertain them and rescue Lord Faramir from their hands as soon as it is possible._

_Respects,_

_Lindir son of Arion, Henneth Annun, Ithilien"_

Eowyn's voice, usually so strong and clear, trembled as she read the letter. Arwen's face too was troubled, and she put a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder.

Eowyn struggled to keep herself composed. "H-how could this happen?" she choked out, "They are both rangers, and great warriors. How did the highwaymen capture them?" She put her hand to her forehead as tears clouded her vision.

"I don't know," Arwen replied, quietly, "I do not think Estel would have willingly left Faramir with them."

Eowyn sat back in the chair, suddenly overcome by grief and weariness. "No," she sobbed, "He wouldn't. Faramir would have sacrificed himself. He's too honourable to let Aragorn suffer in his place."

Arwen nodded. "And Estel did not know of the outpost Henneth Annun, I am quite sure," she held her friend close.

"What can we do?" Eowyn fought back tears. "How can we help them?"

"We can do nothing for now," Arwen looked up at the vaulted ceiling, "Nothing but hope. And pray." She took Eowyn's hands between her own and pressed them together comfortingly. But inside, she too felt like she was breaking into millions of shattered pieces.

Eowyn stood up. "No," she said firmly, "I may be married, and a lady, but I am still a shieldmaiden of Rohan."

Arwen stood as well, a wary look in her eyes. "Eowyn, don't do this. If they could capture Estel and Faramir, what makes you think they won't capture you as well. True, you may be fearless in battle, but you are a lady," She cast a glance around, "And that may make your situation worse."

Eowyn paled considerably. "I suppose you're right," she said, "But we can't just sit here doing nothing." She began to pace the room. "I can't leave Faramir in their hands." She knew her husband was too kindhearted and gentle to be in the hands of the brutal highwaymen for a length of time and survive. If he did, he would probably be affected for the rest of his life.

Arwen stopped her. "We will do something," she said, "We will send Captain Damrod and a patrol to Henneth Annun. Estel will know where the highwaymen have their camp. He will tell them where to go."

Eowyn nodded. "I suppose it's better than nothing," she said. "Thank you, Arwen."

The eldar drew her and held her close. "It will be alright, Eowyn," she said, "I'm sure it will." But inside of her own mind she was having doubts, though she did not voice them to Eowyn.

"I suppose I will go and tell Damrod," Eowyn said, quite hastily, "The sooner they leave to rescue Faramir, the better."

Arwen managed a small smile. "I think that would be a good idea," she said. As Eowyn left the sitting room, she collapsed into a chair with a heavy sigh and put a hand to her forehead. How had their husbands' pleasure trip come to this?

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"Captain Damrod?" Eowyn asked once she'd reached the garrison, looking around for the former ranger.

His dark head lifted from where he sat at a table and turned. "Lady Eowyn!" he stood and bowed respectfully, "To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked, his grey eyes curious.

Eowyn sighed. "I do not think it is quite a pleasure," she said, "Lord Faramir and the King were captured by highwaymen in Ithilien." She paused as Damrod's eyes widened in shock. "King Elessar somehow managed to escape to Henneth Annun. Today, Lady Arwen and I received a message from Malborn and Lindir telling us that Faramir is yet a captive and faces death."

Damrod nodded, recognizing the names of the rangers. "What would you have me do to help?" he asked.

"We have decided to ask you to take a patrol of our best soldiers to Henneth Annun and meet with them, and help them to rescue Faramir and rid Ithilien of the traitorous bandits," Eowyn told him.

The captain nodded again. "Yes, I will do that. I'll leave within the hour," he said, turning to gather his men.

"Oh, and, Damrod?" Eowyn's voice caused him to turn back to her. "Thank you," she said.

He bowed to her once more. "I need no thanks, my lady. I would gladly die in defence of Lord Faramir and King Elessar."

Eowyn managed to smile at him. "Still, I do thank you for trying to restore my husband to me."

"You are welcome to my help at any time," Damrod said, taking his leave.

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Less than half an hour later, Arwen and Eowyn stood at the city gates to bid farewell to Damrod and his patrol.

The captain thought he saw tears in both their eyes, and his thoughts were quite true. "I will do my best," he said, "I did indeed love Lord Faramir when he was Captain of the Ithilien rangers. He was always fair to us, and did not, as some captains did, lord it over us. And we would not be alive today were it not for the King. I promise that I will try to bring them both back to the city in safety, and if I fail, do to me whatever you wish."

Arwen stepped forward. "Nothing will be done to you if you fail," she said quietly, "It would not be your fault."

Damrod gave her a salute. "Thank you, my lady," he said, and took his position at the head of the company. The gates of the city opened and he and twenty cavalrymen left and rode out across the Pellenor fields.

Eowyn watched them leave, anxiety furrowing her brow. They were the last hope for Faramir's safe return.

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_To be continued..._

_A/N- The characters of Lindir and Malborn are my invention, not Tolkein's. They are, so far, the only original characters in this story._

_Damrod's character is not much elaborated on by Tolkein, so most of his personality is formed by my many headcanons about Faramir's time as Captain of the rangers. _

_Please tell me how you liked it. Damrod's success may just depend on the tally of reviews for this chapter... I may prolong Faramir's torment- and your own- if I do not get enough!_

_~Luthien_

_P.S. The last Authour's note is a joke. _


	9. Gathering Clouds

_Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, its characters, and its lands are property of Tolkein Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was not written for profit, but for my own enjoyment._

_**WARNINGS: This chapter includes content that may upset sensitive readers, **__including, but not limited to, anxiety, fear, pain, and some descriptions of wounds. __**Rated K+**_

Chapter Nine- Gathering Clouds

Malborn eased Aragorn back down onto the bedroll after cleaning the lashes across his back again. He shuddered involuntarily, fury coursing through his blood again.

Aragorn looked up at him warily, still cautious around strangers after his ordeal, no matter how friendly they seemed. It had been four days since he'd reached Henneth Annun, and he'd long since come back to consciousness, though he was too weak to do much. He had been too sorely deceived by his captors to trust that the rangers, who had now been joined by Halmund and a few others, were really loyal subjects of Gondor, and worried that they might be the traitors disguised as that, waiting for an opportune moment to cut his throat.

Thinking of death saddened him as his thoughts reverted to his Steward. He did not now know whether Faramir yet lived. He'd had no dreams since the ones he'd had the first night, and he thought despondently that they could have been just due to his feverish delirium.

The ranger left him to himself, and he was grateful for it. Though he distrusted them, they had treated his wounds fairly well, and he was quite a bit more comfortable than he would have expected from his captors.

Malborn had told him that they'd sent Halmund with word of his and Faramir's plight to Minas Tirith, and Aragorn's sole remaining hope was that he would soon return home to see Arwen again. He closed his eyes, blaming himself for suggesting this trip to the Steward.

_No,_ he thought,_ It was not a bad idea to do this. I should not have taken the poisoned wine. But what cause would I have to fear from my subjects? _He sighed, thinking that he had much to learn to be a King. Fears of assassination had been the furthest thing from his mind when he was a ranger of the north, when no one knew who he was, save a mysterious, shadowy figure guarding their lands.

It seemed that every time he closed his eyes, he saw Faramir's face, pained, but trying not to show it, giving up his life for him. No matter how many times he told himself it wasn't true, Aragorn still blamed himself for Faramir's death.

He knew he could have done something more. He'd underestimated the Steward's loyalty and honour, and then let him die. _Some King I am,_ he thought, ruefully.

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Eowyn sat alone in the courtyard. Well, not entirely alone. There was always the odd assortment of guards there, near the White Tree. She longed for Rohan's endless plains and gentle, rolling hills; anything but this stone city. She felt trapped, and it was all she could do to keep herself composed.

She stood again and paced restlessly. Sitting would do her no good. She stopped at the battlements and looked out over the Pellenor towards Ithilien. Her husband was out there somewhere, a tortured captive. And she was here, doing nothing.

That was one thing Eowyn couldn't stand. Arwen had said that they could do nothing. But she was a Shieldmaiden of Rohan. She could do something. And would.

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Aragorn closed his eyes as the bandages were yet again removed from his lacerated back. Malborn's touch was gentle, but he was no Healer. Aragorn felt his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. He was Gondor's King, yet he could not even tend his own wounds. He had tried, and, at first, insisted that he do it himself, but then he'd learned that even moving was too painful, and so he reluctantly submitted to Malborn's services.

The ranger was no more at ease than his lord in this matter. He had treated few wounds, none like this, and he'd never treated one of so high a rank. But he did it anyway, knowing that the King couldn't do it for himself, and if he wasn't treated, the wounds would fester again.

Aragorn's fever had abated, and the infection was almost gone, but lack of food and water along with his cruel treatment had weakened him greatly. He could not at this time even sit himself up.

Malborn knew little of healing herbs, and often asked the King which ones he should use, and how to prepare them. He was quite in awe of Aragorn's vast knowledge of healing, which was greater than that of any Healer in Minas Tirith.

Aragorn did not mind teaching him, for he seemed eager to learn, and knowledge of healing might do him good in Ithilien. And it kept his mind off of Faramir's plight.

Quiet, booted footsteps in the passages made both Aragorn and Malborn start. The ranger drew his sword, and Aragorn struggled to turn himself onto his back, however painful it may be.

"I'll go meet them, my lord," Malborn whispered, helping him to sit up and wrapping a blanket around his shoulders.

Aragorn nodded, and Malborn quietly stepped out of the chamber into the passage leading up to it. Aragorn heard him gasp. "Captain Damrod!" he cried, "What are you doing here?"

Aragorn smiled. No doubt this was arranged by Arwen and Eowyn on receiving the news of his rescue and Faramir's sacrifice. This was the first good thing that had happened yet. He said a silent prayer of thanks.

"I've come with some of my men," Damrod replied, "To help you erradicate the highwaymen that held our beloved King and our former captain prisoner."

Lindir, hearing his former comrade's voice, came out of the store room, where he had been taking inventory of their supplies. "This is a blessing!" he exclaimed, "Bring your men inside. I am sure you are travel weary and hungry. We have plenty of food for supper."

Damrod grinned. "That we are. Riding from Minas Tirith to Ithilien with all of our gear is not the most pleasant experience. You've grown quite a bit since I last saw you, Master Lindir," he said, "Matured as well. How old are you?"

Lindir coloured at the captain's praise. "Twenty years, sir," he said, "I've just turned it a week ago."

Damrod gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder. "Well, young man," he said, "You're wise beyond your years. Now, I'll go bring my men, we'll have supper, and discuss battle plans."

Malborn nodded. "That sounds like a good plan, Captain," he said, "Lindir, Halmund, and I will prepare supper."

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Eowyn swung herself lightly into Windfola's saddle, her sword at her side. It was time for her again to take up her position as shieldmaiden. She would find her husband and rescue him, or at least find where he was being held. "On, Windfola!" she commanded.

The horse surged forward, bearing her out of the gates at a swift gallop and turning out across the Pellenor. His hooves beat the ground in the familiar rythymic drumroll that she'd grown up with, and she felt more comfortable than she'd been for months.

Eowyn wondered if the guards at the gate had guessed her motives. No matter. Nothing could keep her from battle, as her brother and late uncle had discovered in the Battle of the Pellenor Fields.

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Damrod, his company, Malborn, Lindir, and Halmund sat in the chamber in Henneth Annun after supper. Damrod and his men were quite refreshed after their journey, and thanked the rangers heartily.

"It is you we must thank," Malborn replied, "for coming to our aid." He poured the captain a glass of wine. "These highwaymen have been a thorn in our side for months."

Damrod accepted the glass willingly. "Have you any notion of where they make their camp?" he asked, turning it thoughtfully on the table.

Malborn shook his head. "We do not. But the King does," he said, glancing toward the chamber where Aragorn slept deeply.

Damrod started a bit, then he remembered that Aragorn was still in Henneth Annun. "How is he?" he asked, his brow knitting in worry.

Malborn shrugged his shoulders. "Mending," he said, "About as well as he could be. He was sorely mistreated, and his wounds were infected. But I think the infection's left him. Now he just needs to stop worrying about Lord Faramir."

Damrod sat back, with a heavy sigh. "I worry too," he said, "Is his lordship well enough to speak of it to us?"

Malborn shook his head. "No, I do not think we should trouble him. I too am in utmost haste to aid Lord Faramir, but I am afraid we must wait until Elessar King has recovered more."

Damrod put his head in his hands. "I pray we will not be too late."

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_To be continued..._

_A/N: Sorry about the short chapter! This was also a hard one. And a lot less angsty than I thought it would be. _

_At first, Malborn, Lindir, and Halmund were just going to be gapfiller characters, but I think I'm going to expand them. They may be featured in future stories._

_Coming up... we should find out what poor Faramir is enduring at the moment. _

_Please Review!_

_~Luthien_


	10. A Plan Unmasked

_Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, its characters, and its lands belong to Tolkein Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was written for my enjoyment and my readers'; not for profit._

_**WARNINGS: **__General angst and worry.__** Rated K.**_

Chapter Ten- A Plan Revealed

A few days had passed since Damrod's arrival. Aragorn had grown stronger, though still weak from his ill treatment, and now joined the rangers around the table. Malborn had decided not to speak of the highwaymen yet, while the King's wounds were still healing, so as not to worry him too much; though he was as eager as Damrod was to begin the mission.

But Aragorn did not know that, and he was irritated that they weren't doing anything. One evening at supper after Halmund and a few others had unsuccessfully tried to capture one of the highwaymen who they'd found in Ithilien, he found it too much to bear. "You know that I escaped from their lair," he spoke up for the first time in a few days.

Malborn and Damrod turned to him, surprised at his perturbed tone. "Y-yes my lord," the ranger said, bewildered, "We know."

The King's piercing grey eyes rested on the two. "And yet you do not ask me the location of the place so as to start the mission?" he asked, looking back and forth between them. "Each second we wait, Lord Faramir will be closer to death. If he has not already yet been killed." He looked away, pain evident in his eyes, but not merely pain from his wounds. "He sacrificed himself that I might escape. I vowed to come to his aid. I suppose I have indeed failed him."

Damrod was silent. It was an action so typical of his beloved captain. He knew Faramir would have done the same for any of them. Of course he would have done it for the King, whom he worshipped. Always Faramir had spoken of the King's return. He'd longed for it. And Damrod could see the joy and honor in his eyes as he had performed Aragorn's coronation ceremony.

But Damrod had never thought that it would come to the need for self-sacrifice in this manner.

"I apologize, my lord," Malborn spoke up "It was my choice not to bring the matter up. I wished for you to recover for a little while, as undisturbed by dark thoughts as possible." He looked down at his feet submissively. Aragorn had a right to be angry.

The King, however, understood now. Though it had done little to keep him undisturbed, Malborn had had his best interests at heart. "You are forgiven. I suppose now, though, I am quite ready to tell you, and I have been for a while. It only just came to my mind that I could help your mission." His gaze softened, understanding how they would like to make his healing more peaceful. He was quite firmly convinced that he was safe now, and trusted the rangers, and, even more so, Damrod and his company.

"Yes, my lord," Malborn agreed, "I suppose it is time." He said. "Do you feel well enough to join us to plan the battle?"

Aragorn nodded firmly. "Indeed I am," he says, "It is long overdue."

The table had soon been cleared, and Aragorn, Damrod, Malborn, and Lindir were seated around it. A map of Ithilien had been rolled out on the table. Malborn pointed out significant places on the map so that Aragorn could get his bearings.

The King looked over the map thoughtfully for a moment. "The path to Henneth Annun begins here?" he pointed at a place that was marked on the map.

The ranger nodded. "Yes," he said, "And here is the cracked boulder by the river." Malborn pointed to another mark, near a long, winding line that must have been the river Aragorn used to guide himself.

He looked at it, trying to remember the bends in the river as he traced his finger along it. He had been in a state of delirium, but he had paid some slight attention to his wherabouts so that he could bring back help for Faramir, as much attention as he could. At last he found a sharp bend, the place where he had begun to follow the river. "Here," he said, pointing at it, "It is only a little ways east of this place in the river, in a small clearing."

The very air around them crackled with the rangers' excitement. They had spent months trying to find the highwaymen, and now they were so close to succeeding. But before they could get too carried away, Lindir, the sensible young man, spoke up. "I must ask, is there not a catch to this?"

Aragorn looked at him in surprise. "Such as what?" he asked. He hadn't thought of that.

Lindir, slightly embarrased for having spoken up, shrugged, "It must not be so easy to find," he said, "We have searched this area before. And, perhaps, should we get too close, there may be traps there?" He gave the others an anxious look.

The King nodded slowly. "They are not unintelligent, these robbers," he said, "For, even as I looked back, I could barely see the entrance to their lair. You see, it is underground. They've made a network of caverns, how, I do not know, and the entrance is in a small pile of rocks, or at least that is what it looks like to an untrained eye. But if you pull back one of the stones, you'll find a stairway that leads into their lair." He looked at each of his companions in turn, his gaze cool and calculating. This was the Ranger of the North, the Chieftain of the Dunedain, and Isildur's heir. His mind had recovered where his body had not. The grief had vanished from his mind, and now, firmly implanted there was justice. Not the King in Minas Tirith, but a warrior he was now. The men looked at him with a newfound, greater respect.

Damrod was the first to speak next. "Then I suppose we should attack as soon as possible, my lord," he said.

Aragorn smiled now, "Yes, but not in the way you think," he said, "Surely, Captain Damrod, you remember your ranger training?" he asked.

The former ranger nodded, "Though I am not sure my men do. I tried to bring mostly men like myself, but there are not many left, and I had to bring quite a few foot soldiers and cavalrymen." He inclined his head slightly to the side.

"But that is inconsequential," Aragorn replied, "They will not be infiltrating. They will be waiting. And if the rebels don't surrender, I believe foot soldiers and cavalrymen can fight just as well as rangers in a melee."

The Captain and the ranger glanced at each other. It seemed that, during his convalescence, Aragorn had planned their attack, instead of simply resting. It seemed that the Line of Elendil was outdoing the House of Hurin with stubborness.

"So, you have a plan already, sire?" Damrod asked, a gleam in his eyes, which Aragorn saw as a combination of excitement and laughter. The King wondered what the Captain would think funny about his having a plan, but he did not ask.

"Yes, Captain Damrod," he said, instead, "I could not merely sit about while the Lord Steward's life is in jeopardy." He gave them a moment for his words on the seriousness of the situation to sink in, then he told them his plan.

"Since I know exactly where they have their hideaway, and, indeed, some of their customs, I will lead a few of us into their lair, where we will pose as some of them, until one of us is able to leave and give the others, who will be waiting, a signal. Then, they will attack, and while the robbers think they are safe in their hole, we will show them our true colours," Aragorn said, "And then..." he broke off.

"Then what, my lord?" asked Damrod, curiously,

"Then," Aragorn told him, "We shall see what we will do then." It was true; this all depended on what state they found the Steward in. Or if he was even there at all. Perhaps the highwaymen would be clever enough to move their captive away from the cavern.

The two rangers and Damrod nodded, affirming Aragorn's plan as a very good one. He himself had had a few doubts, having thought it up while he was ill, but it seemed that the others agreed that it was a good plan.

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Aragorn was still recovering from his wounds, and he still slept on his stomach to ease the pain in his back. He knew that he was in no shape to attempt such a daring venture, but he could wait no longer to keep his promise.

He got up, unable to sleep. They had gone to their beds late that night, and Aragorn knew that he, in his weakened state, should rest and restore his energy if he was going to lead the attack tomorrow. But it was impossible. He'd tried, and failed, to fall asleep.

What was keeping him awake? Most likely it was worry over finding Faramir dead. He wished he could have helped him escape somehow. He paced the room restlessly, his wounds hurting, but he ignored them. A part of him was eager to go, another part afraid. He wondered again if his plan would work.

Aragorn said a silent prayer that Faramir's life, if not already taken, would be preserved for just a little while longer.

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_To be Continued..._

_A/N: Here it is at last! I've been busy this week, which is why it took so long to update this. _

_I've also started on a series called 'The Last Hope,' an A.U. story about what may have happened if the Quest had failed, of which the first volume is 'Darkness Falls. Please read it and review!._

_I have not, and will not, abandon this story. If you think I did, then you have misjudged me. How could I leave poor Faramir hanging like this. He'll be coming back in the next chapter, and I think that my Farangst loving readers will be quite pleased... *hint, hint* _

_Again, I did not abandon 'In His Stead.' My writers muse for that story seems to have taken a short vacation. But I promise that I will get chapter six up, sometime._

_I think that catches everyone up. Please review this! I'll be seeing you soon, I hope!_

_~Luthien_


	11. An Old Enemy

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters, and lands, are the property of Tolkein Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was written for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, not for profit._

_**WARNINGS: This chapter includes content that may upset sensitive readers, **__including, but not limited to, torture, extreme pain, graphic imagery, etc.__** Rated T.**_

Chapter Eleven- An Old Enemy

Faramir watched Aragorn disappear into Ithilien, and closed his eyes in a prayer for his safety. He'd planned before on showing the King the outpost at Henneth Annun, but not in this way. He feared little that Aragorn would not find the place, for he had been a ranger since before Faramir's birth, and the simple instructions Faramir had given him would be more than enough.

He feared that his captors would not keep their word.

The man's hand tightened slightly around his neck, and Faramir took his eyes off the wood around him as his hands were bound tightly behind his back. _I gave up my freedom,_ he thought bitterly, _and my life for my liege lord. Do they think me a man of such little honour to go back on my word now?_

The ropes cut into his wrists, and he bit his lower lip against the pain. There was no need for them to tie him; he would not attempt to escape. He'd given his word, and he'd always made a point in his life to be honest. But, of course, they wouldn't know that, and they had good reason not to trust him, after his near successful escape with Aragorn earlier that day.

He was shoved roughly back inside the cave. They had let go of his neck, but now two of the men gripped his arms, one on either side of him. Down the halls they went, spinning Faramir every once in a while to disorientate him.

Once they reached the narrow hallway between the rows of cells, they shoved him back into one with such force that he staggered against the wall. "You've sold yourself to us," the leader, the one who had impersonated him, snarled, "And now we do what we wish with you, Steward. Your life is worth nothing to us. Much we've suffered at your father's hand."

Faramir opened his mouth to answer them, but he found that there were no words to say, so he shut it again, wisely.

"I am Calemon," he said, "Formerly the Captain of the Ithilien rangers, that is, until his lordship put you in my place. Long have I awaited the day I could have my revenge on you," his voice came out as a hiss.

Faramir remembered hearing about Captain Calemon, who'd mysteriously disappeared a few days after it was anounced that Faramir would take his place. Anborn, his lieutenant, had spoken of him as a 'shady character, with a mind for trouble, and a thirst for battle,' none of which described Faramir at all. He'd heard that Calemon often ordered floggings, and sometimes even executions, for offences which Faramir would consider worth no more than a lecture. From what he'd heard, Calemon was capable of performing some terrible acts of cruelty.

He met Calemon's eyes, firm and unwavering. "Well, I suppose that, now, you need wait no more," he retorted, keeping as calm as he possibly could.

This composure of his angered Calemon. Though the former captain tried not to show it, Faramir saw in the way his eyes narrowed and his glare sharpened, obviously trying to intimidate Faramir.

The Steward kept his eyes locked on Calemon's, betraying no emotion, save the trademark stubborness of the House of Hurin. Though inwardly he was quite afraid, he did not show it.

The two kept eye contact for a few moments, while the room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation as the tension between Steward and outcast built up. Faramir knew he'd have to make himself last as long as he could to give Aragorn a good chance of escape. This seemed to be an ideal way to stall.

At last, Calemon broke the tension, rushing forward and striking Faramir on the side of the head with his stiff leather gauntlets. Faramir reeled and fell, propelling himself upright again before Calemon could deal him a kick in the gut. "You would dare defy me, Steward?" asked Calemon, his voice honeyed over with sickly sweetness, "I suppose you would. Even now, when you are entirely in my power." As if to prove his point, he dealt Faramir another blow.

But the Steward saw it coming this time, and ducked, causing Calemon to spin in an entire half-circle before regaining his balance. A sound rose in the highwayman's throat that sounded half like a snarl and half a growl. Calemon did not like to be proven wrong. And when he was, he found that he took out his anger on the nearest direct object, which was, at the moment, conveniently for him, Faramir.

Faramir was taken aback, and caught completely off guard, by Calemon as the renegade hurled himself at him, knocking him immediately onto the floor and putting his foot on Faramir's chest, grinding his boot heel into his ribs.

Faramir, the wind having been knocked out of him as he'd hit the hard, stone floor, could hardly hold back a yelp of pain. This seemed to please Calemon, who put his full weight into his heel.

Faramir gritted his teeth defiantly, closing his eyes as he heard and felt his ribs crack beneath the pressure. Pain shot through his chest, coursing through his body, a blinding pain, like someone was repeatedly stabbing him with a dagger. It came up and choked him, and he fought against the cry of agony that threatened to escape him.

At last, the pressure on his chest was relieved a bit as Calemon stepped back. He took a shaky, painful breath, opening his eyes slightly. "I see that the brave captain has cracked," Calemon sneered, "Both figuratively and literally."

He chortled at his own joke, and Faramir felt anger rise inside him again. "I'm afraid you are quite mistaken, Calemon," he wheezed, for if breathing was painful, speaking was agony. "You may have broken my bones, but I am not broken. Not yet. And I will never break for the likes of you." He braced himself for what would come next.

And he was not surprised when Calemon pulled him off the ground and slammed his anterior against the cavern wall, wrenching his arm behind him and twisting it. "Then I will enjoy breaking the rest of your bones," he hissed.

Faramir bit his lip, closing his eyes as the muscles and tendons in his arm were stretched to their limit. Calemon was well skilled in the art of making one's victim in as much pain as possible, Faramir deducted, much to his chagrin, noting that he was driving his broken ribs against the stone wall even as he attempted to break the Steward's arm. His prospects looked grim indeed. He could only hope that Calemon would wish to play with him long enough for Aragorn to escape.

Something snapped. It wasn't his bone, but it was enough to bring hot tears of pain springing to his eyes. Faramir ground his teeth as it was twisted further, holding back the cries that threatened to escape him.

Then Calemon stopped. "I could twist this arm right off, my lord Steward," the last three words were spat out contemptuously, "But I won't do that. I think this will have taught you well enough not to underestimate my cruelty."

Faramir turned his face away from the wall, reddened and strained with pain, and fixed his tormentor with a glare. "It has indeed," his voice was stiff and drawn, but cold as ice, "But it did not raise my opinion of you. You are still a deceitful, murderous snake in my eyes." He could barely move his damaged arm, and his damaged ribs burned with a dizzying fire, but, somehow, he managed to stay upright and keep eye contact with Calemon.

Once again, his stubbornness in not showing his pain infuriated the highwayman. But Calemon's only reaction was the one Faramir expected; he called for two of his men, who, one on each side, took a hold of Faramir's arms and held him still.

Calemon rolled up his sleeves, clenching his scarred hands into tough, horny fists. "Very brave, Captain, very brave," he sneered, his voice oozing with false sweetness, "But your bravery will cost you. Dearly, I may add."

With those words, he plunged his fist into the hapless Steward's gut. Faramir gasped in stunned agony, but barely had time to regain himself before the renegade landed another punch at his side. "You will break, Steward," Calemon hissed, giving him another, and another.

Faramir's head swam, and he felt his eyes closing, but before he drifted into blissful unconsciousness, the beating stopped. He realized he'd held his breath for the entire time, and let it out in a ragged, painful sigh, drawing it back in in much the same way.

Then Calemon had grasped him by the collar of his shirt, and through his half-closed eyes, he could see the man standing incredibly close, and he felt his hot, fetid breath on his face as Calemon spoke.

"I am a 'kind' host," he said, with the same silken tone as before, "And so I will give you time to come back to your senses before the our next meeting. So that you can feel the pain all the better." He laughed slightly, but a derisive laugh, not one of humor, making a signal to the guards who held Faramir against the wall.

They threw him down onto the ground, and as Faramir struggled to regain his feet, not wishing to give them any show of weakness, he heard the door on the cell slam shut and the wooden bar slide into place.

He gave up trying to move, and lay there, his eyes open and looking at nothing in particular. Now they had him out of the way, and could plan whatever they wished to do to Aragorn. He was trapped in the hands of his old enemy, and, this time, there was no sword in the privy to free him.

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_To Be Continued..._

_A/N: I am SO sorry about the wait! And my other stories... well, let's just say that Real Life has to come first sometimes. _

_Really, really sorry about this. But I have to say that I have not abandoned this story, nor my others. _

_'Darkness Falls,' and the second in the series, 'Darkness Reigns,' are both fully outlined, and I just am working on putting the outline into words._

_I have, amazingly enough, started work on Chapter Six of 'In His Stead.' I have had major writers' block on that one... my Faramir-muse has been a little finnicky lately._

_My updates will not be as frequent as they have been, because Real Life, as I've said before, take precedence, though I wish it were the other way around. Probably every two weeks at most there will be an update on at least one of my stories, but no promises._

_Sorry again, and I will try to reply to all reviews I can._

_Namaarie,_

_Luthien_


	12. Painful Reminders

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters, and lands, are the property of Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was written for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, not for profit._

_**WARNINGS: This chapter includes content that may upset sensitive readers, **__including, but not limited to, torture, extreme pain, graphic imagery, etc.__** Rated T.**_

Chapter Twelve- Painful Reminders

Whether it had been days or merely hours, Faramir did not know. He lay still in the back of the cell, his head swimming. Blackness threatened the edges of his vision, but, though he would have willingly submitted to unconsciousness, it did not come. He saw the dark cell through a red haze, and the slightest movement, even the necessary rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, was agony.

Calemon's tortures had intensified since the first. He'd brought out this time a wicked-looking nine-tailed whip, with metal barbs all along the length of the strands. After the usual pleasantries, he'd set to proving to Faramir just how cruel he could be. Again, he'd left him barely conscious, but stopped before he'd drifted into oblivion.

_He's very clever,_ thought the poor Steward, ruefully, _To let me recover my senses in between torture sessions._ It was clear that Calemon would make his death as slow and agonizing as possible.

Faramir wished nothing more at the moment than to slip into unconsciousness. Anything to escape the pain he felt. The barbs had torn the skin away from his back, but had not cut very deep, so he was in no danger of dying of blood loss. For a brief moment, he wondered where Calemon had learned his techniques.

He wondered if Eowyn had any idea of what was happening. Probably not. He was quite sure it had not been a week. He flinched as he shifted slightly, the pain from his flayed back nearly causing him to cry out.

And he worried. He'd heard men leaving the cave, and he could only come to the conclusion that Calemon had broken his word and sent them to find Aragorn. He wanted nothing more than to be able to pace up and down the cell, as was his habit when anxious, but, when it was agony to even move, pacing was quite impossible.

Blackness pressed on the edge of his vision, and Faramir welcomed it, attempting to let it take over, but it did not. Inwardly groaning with pain and frustration, he tried to turn his mind to matters outside Aragorn's plight and his own torment.

He thought about Eowyn, back in Minas Tirith, safe. It gave him some joy that he could trust that she wasn't in danger. For all he knew, Calemon knew nothing of her. He wondered how long she would wait for his return, never to be satisfied.

Full consciousness began returning to him. He dragged himself up into a seated position, closing his eyes as he saw stars dancing before them. His head throbbed painfully where he'd been struck with something... he didn't know what. Perhaps it was Calemon's fist, or the heel of his boot. The last few hours had blended into a monotony of pain for him.

He found himself cringing inwardly as the cell door creaked open. He screwed his eyes shut, hoping that the ex-captain would think him unconscious.

His ruse worked, briefly, until Calemon stepped over and gave him a sharp kick in his ribs.

Faramir gasped as fresh pain coursed through his body, his eyes flying back open. He moved a hand to cover his head, to protect from any of his enemy's future blows, feeling more than a little shame to be lying helpless before a ruffian like Calemon.

He was roughly dragged to his feet and pressed against the wall. Calemon dug his elbow into Faramir's shoulder, pinning him back. "It is time for you to learn something, my lord," he hissed.

Faramir blinked slowly as the blackness clouding his vision cleared and he saw the sharp-featured former ranger in front of him, his lips twisted in a malicious sneer. "I don't... wish to," he said, "But I wish to learn something else."

He was rewarded with a knee in his gut, and another shove against the wall. "I am in control here, Faramir!" Calemon spat. "You sold yourself to me for the life of his majesty. I do what I wish, and you bow to my authority. If you don't your beloved King will not be so lucky."

Faramir met his eyes. In the Steward's expression there was no anger or hatred, only confusion and sadness. "Why, Calemon?"

The highwayman twisted his face into a puzzled expression, looking for a moment less malicious. "Why?" his features hardened and his eyes grew cold again, "Why, you ask?" He spat off to the side. "You know the answer. Your father demoted me and put an insolent, inexperienced whelp in my place. I had the Ithilien rangers under my control. Perfectly, as a matter of fact. Until _you_ came along!" He backhanded Faramir across the face.

The Steward's head jerked sideways at the impact, and he tasted fresh blood in his mouth. "It was not my fault you were demoted," he continued, striving to keep his voice feelingless and monotonous, "And it is no reason for you to become so riddled with hatred. A true soldier of Gondor would be proud to fight and give his life for his land no matter what his rank."

Calemon's face reddened at this statement. "And by this you mean that I am not?" he growled, his gaze menacing, "I was loyal. Until I was cheated! How I wish you had burned as it had been intended. Gondor would have had a better future. But, no, instead we have _you_ as our Steward, Denethor's worthless spare."

Faramir struggled to mantain his composure. Calemon's words struck him like a blow, worse than any he'd received so far. Outwardly, his face was an immovable mask of indifference. Inwardly, he felt his spirits sinking as low as they had before.

Denethor had always thought of his younger son as the Spare, in case, by some rare chance, Boromir should perish. He'd spent very little time with Faramir during his early years, and their relationship when he was grown was more like that of liege lord and subject than father and son. Often Faramir had thought of himself as worthless, but now, for the first time, he had been beginning to feel as if he was needed.

He'd not understood the King's warmth toward him, and it had been hard for him to accept; still, he felt as if he should keep up with addressing Aragorn formally, though the latter had insisted otherwise. But he knew that Aragorn, unlike Denethor, seemed to care for him.

But Calemon's words hit him like a stab of ice, bringing back the old clouds of self-doubt and unhappiness he'd often felt in his younger days.

He could barely keep his voice from trembling slightly when he spoke. "I may not have been trained all my life to take my father's place," he said, "But I do not see that people are suffered any less under his rule than under King Elessar's and mine."

Calemon laughed and spat off to the side. "Indeed it would appear to be that way to you, as you sit on your thrones and pass judgement, but I have seen innocent people killed on the King's orders." He gripped Faramir by the collar of his shirt and pulled him menacingly close.

Faramir made eye contact and kept it, no fear showing in his eyes, though his heart beat so loudly he was sure Calemon could have heard it. "King Elessar has sentenced none to death save traitors. I, more than any, would know, as I am his chief advisor."

Calemon snorted, unconvinced. "Chief advisor, indeed. Then you do not advise him for much. What he does is of his own doing, not anyone else's. You would not know. He tries to keep it hidden..."

Faramir could not take the man's lies any longer. "Your falsehoods will not turn me against my King. You may try all you wish, but I know you for what you are, Calemon," he said, his voice low, "You are a liar. A traitorous liar. And you will someday be brought to justice." His voice wavered a bit as he felt Calemon's eyes like points of fire upon him.

The vagabond smirked. "Indeed, your Lordship?" a wry, nasty grin was on his face. "However, it is not that day. Now is my time, _spare_!"

He landed a well-placed punch in the Steward's gut, causing him to double over in pain. Calemon's hateful words stung him, and after the highwayman had left, he felt hot tears prick his eyes.

_Will I ever escape my past?_

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_To Be Continued..._

_A/N: This one came a little faster, I think. Probably I'll still be keeping it a chapter every two or three weeks. _

_There is by no means any implication of Evil!Denethor here. I do not believe Faramir was ever beaten by his father, but there is clear evidence that Denethor thought little of his younger son, especially during his later years. _

_I am wondering how I portrayed Faramir's character under pressure like this. As I've said before, I've tried to keep 'my' characters' attributes as close to what Tolkien intended them to be as possible._

_Thank you, all my reviewers, for your support!_

_~Luthien_


	13. At the Setting of the Sun

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters, and lands, are the property of Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was written for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, not for profit._

_**WARNINGS: Angst. Rated K+**_

Chapter Thirteen - At the Setting of the Sun

Eowyn pulled Windfola easily up to a halt. She was now in Ithilien, where her husband was, somewhere, being held and probably tormented. But what to do next, she did not know. She glanced around her, as if searching for some sign, though she was quite sure there would be none.

With a sigh, she nudged her horse forward at a walk, head bent, looking at the churned hoofprints in the soil. She'd passed through a village a day earlier, and learned that the King and Steward had passed through a week prior, and had easily found the trail of Roheryn and Feanor, following it into lands she'd never seen before.

She snorted to herself. _You are a very silly woman, Eowyn of Rohan,_ she scolded, _Coming here on a sudden impulse like this. How could you presume to be of help to Faramir?_

The hoofprints now took on a strange pattern. As if the horses had been startled. Their tracks led off in different directions into the undergrowth. And from there she saw several footprints leading along a path...

She halted Windfola once more, swinging off and bending down to look. On the leaf litter were slight stains of blood. That whole area was quite scuffled, with many booted footprints around it.

Eowyn smiled slightly to herself. Though she was not the best tracker, she'd managed to find a clue to what had happened to her husband and the King. It was quite apparent that they'd been waylaid.

This brought a frown to her features. How had someone managed to overpower them? Both were great warriors, and there hadn't been a fight, for there was not much blood spilt there.

It unnerved the White Lady quite a bit. Something quite bad must have befallen them. And now she was at a loss. Their trail disappeared only a few feet into the shrubbery, and the sun had passed its zenith. It would soon be time again to make camp and wait out the night, probably sleepless, as had been every night so far on her journey.

She remounted and rode onward along the trail, towards the telltale sound of running water. It was always best to camp near water, she'd learned, and so she would.

As she and her mount pushed through the trees into the clear area near the stream, she saw a flash of chestnut. There, drinking at the stream, was Feanor. The chestnut horse lifted his delicate head and watched her through wary eyes.

Eowyn dismounted and edged towards him, her palm outstretched. She spoke softly in the language of the Mark, in an attempt to calm the jittery steed, who'd obviously taken a bad fright. _It is quite obvious,_ she thought, _Something ill had befallen his master. Something terribly ill._

Feanor seemed now to recognize her. He whickered gently and ambled over, whuffling her fingers. Eowyn smiled, patting him on the muzzle and taking his reins in her hands. "It's alright now," she muttered.

The horse seemed quite a bit more at ease, and Eowyn began to set up her camp.

When she was finished, she lay down on her bedroll, exhausted from riding all day, but still unable to sleep. Mostly out of fear for Faramir, but some for herself. Could those who had taken her husband be watching her right now as she attempted to sleep?

At last, her exhaustion gained the upper hand, and she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

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Aragorn and the rangers had perfected their plan over the course of a few days. The King's strength had returned, and all of them had become restless with simply waiting around Henneth Annun. As one unit, they had decided that it was now time to act.

From morning to noon, they prepared to embark upon their mission, gathering their weapons, poring over the maps one last time, and speaking to each other.

Aragorn gathered up as much Athelas as he could find, as well as many other healing herbs, for he knew that, if he was still alive, Faramir would be in horrible condition when they found him. There was little hope, overall, that they would find him alive; it had been too long since he'd sacrificed himself for Aragorn's freedom. Surely their captors would have killed the brave Steward already, unless they had some higher motive. But what?

Aragorn felt a pang in his heart. He had just begun to get to know Faramir; to befriend him, to bring him out of the despair of his harsh former years, and his shell of humility. How could he have known that he would be snatched away at such a terrible time?

Faramir... loyal. Valiant. Self-sacrificing. Gone. His Steward, the one he brought back from the gates of death before. Gone. Never to be seen again. He had seen, in that brief time of their journey before their captivity, a glimpse of the man under that mask; the emotionless, dutiful face that Faramir had been forced to wear probably since before even coming of age.

He'd seen a future, in which he and Faramir stood side by side to rule Gondor, nearly equals, with none of the stiff formality and fealty that Faramir had exhibited before, but loyalty out of love, not duty.

Aragorn plucked a last sprig of the plant and tucked it into his pack. There was still hope for Faramir; he was sure of it. And if he was alive, he would need Aragorn's aid.

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Damrod's eyes scanned the surrounding woods. He, the King, Malborn, Lindir, and his company had left Henneth Annun and were making their way along the river towards the lair of the rebels. Aragorn was ahead; Damrod could see him from his place in the wood, leading them back along the path he had taken to freedom.

The company was spread out through the surrounding area; Damrod could make out the figure of Malborn, as well as those of a few of his own men, near to himself. It was a nice change, to go from the rigours of the army back to the silent stealth of a ranger.

The company had been walking for nearly an hour. And still, no sign from Aragorn that they were near. Damrod marvelled that he had been able to come this distance in the shape he was in when the rangers found him at Henneth Annun.

They were still walking along the river when, out of the corner of his eye, Damrod saw movement. He turned to look at it and saw a small makeshift camp and two horses; a bay and a chestnut. He made a hand signal to Aragorn, who caught it and turned to him.

Damrod gestured towards the campsite. In the waning sunlight he could see little more than the horses, but it was clear that someone slept there.

Much to his surprise, Aragorn looked suddenly alarmed and dashed towards the campsite. Damrod and the others had no choice but to follow him, not knowing why he had acted in such a way.

_That horse..._ Aragorn's thoughts were wild. _It is Faramir's horse. I would know Feanor anywhere. And the same for Windfola. Why is Eowyn's horse out... _

His thoughts broke off suddenly. There, lying on a bedroll, was Eowyn herself. _What in Arda...?_ Silently, he made his way over to her. She was sound asleep.

Aragorn shook his head ruefully. He'd hoped that Faramir could have tamed the wild shieldmaiden of Rohan who had become his wife, but, now, he was quite sure that no mortal could. Doubtlessly, Eowyn had come to find them. She certainly hadn't thought over a plan much. Even if she had, by some odd chance, managed to find the place where Faramir was being held, how could she expect to defeat all of their captors single-handedly?

_Dear, impulsive Eowyn..._ He gave the sleeping Rohir a sad smile as he bent to wake her.

As soon as his hand touched her shoulder, Eowyn jumped to her feet, the tip of her sword blade at Aragorn's throat in a half second.

Aragorn lurched backwards, raising his hands in surprise. "Easy, there," he said, as if he was trying to soothe a frightened horse.

Eowyn's eyes widened as she realized who her 'attacker' was. "Oh!" she exclaimed, dropping the sword on the ground and backing up, a horrified expression across her fair features. "M-my lord Elessar... I didn't know... I mean, I thought..." she stammered.

Aragorn sighed. "I understand," he said, "You were on your guard against the slightest possibility of attack while you slept, being out here alone. I do not, however, understand why you are out here alone." He checked himself, "No, I do. And it was very rash of you, Lady Eowyn."

Eowyn had quite regained her composure by now, and crossed her arms. "Well, my lord," she said, a bit curtly, "I believe that I have every right to find my husband." She met his eyes fearlessly, a hint of her trademark defiance in them.

Aragorn shook his head. "Eowyn, for one reason, you never would have found where they kept us. An entire company of rangers have been searching for the place for nearly a month, and they have not even found a clue of it. You are not a ranger, though you are a warrior; if they could not find it, neither could you."

Eowyn loosened up with a sigh, and Aragorn could see that she was holding back tears of hopelessness. She paced for a few moments, and then stopped, turning to him. "I thought of that," she confessed, "A few days after I left Minas Tirith. I told myself that I had been rash and foolish, but I had managed to find your trail, and I thought that maybe I could find him..." her voice trailed off.

Aragorn broke off the conversation before it took too much of their time. "We are now going to rescue Faramir," he told her, "And, though I am sure that he would not approve of it, and I do not approve of it, you may come along. You are here, and you can fight. And I am quite sure you intend to whether I approve or not."

Eowyn was surprised for a brief moment at the sight of the rangers and infantry behind the King, not having seen them before, and then she relaxed and a ghost of a smile passed over her lips. "I think that you know me quite well, Aragorn Elessar," she remarked, then cast a glance in the direction of the horses. "What of Windfola and Feanor?" she asked, quickly telling the story of how she found Faramir's horse.

"They must remain here," Aragorn replied, "Until we return. Perhaps we will have use for them." He did not voice his fears to Eowyn that Faramir was most likely dead, partially because he did not want to believe them himself.

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Within half an hour, they had reached the entrance to the caves. The rangers and Eowyn looked bewildered as Aragorn moved towards what seemed like a solid rock and pushed it. After a few shoves, it slid open, revealing a long, torchlit hallway.

He and the few who he had chosen to come with him entered. He had insisted that Eowyn stay behind, and so she did, for once following orders. At first, she had been a bit perturbed, but once she had heard the plan, she'd accepted it without a second thought.

As the minutes passed, she grew uneasy. There was no sound of a skirmish inside the caves. Had something happened? Had they taken Aragorn and his company prisoner?

She had just begun to pace when a sharp cry of despair from below her reached her ears: Aragorn's.

Without a second thought, she raced into the caves, hurrying in the direction of his voice, until she found him standing outside a small, dim cell that had evidently been Faramir's.

Eowyn peered over the King's shoulder and took in breath sharply as horror filled her.

The cell was empty.

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_To Be Continued..._

_A/N: Haha! I know you all hate me for that cliffie... oh well, please no flames, anyway. _

_So the long-awaited chapter thirteen is up at last. I think I stayed within my time limit this time, I think. _

_I'm quite proud of myself: This is one of my longest and (I think) best written chapters yet! _

_Please review and tell me how you like it. And I love to hear your concerns about poor widdle Faramir... it feeds my inner evil authoress. _

_I promise, you will learn what happened to Faramir. I will not leave you hanging!_

_~Luthien._


	14. Confessions

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters, and lands, are the property of Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was written for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, not for profit._

_**WARNINGS: Angst. Rated K+**_

Chapter 14- Confession

Aragorn had been prepared to find Faramir dead. He'd been preparing himself for the entire march to the caves. But nothing had prepared him for this. He felt utterly helpless.

When he'd entered the cave with no resistance, he'd known that something was not right, but he had suspected that the rebels were hiding somewhere, waiting for him to let down his guard. But then, Faramir was gone. His cell was empty, with only a faint trail of dried blood leading out of the door and then disappearing to show that he'd been taken out.

They had made a sweep of the entire cave system, and found that, indeed, it was abandoned. Not a living soul in the caverns to demand news of.

Now, the night had passed, and a new day dawned, and Aragorn's realization was clear. Faramir was gone. Dead or not, Aragorn did not know. And he hadn't even been able to avenge his Steward's death.

He sat on the riverbank, staring into the water as it rippled around the rocks, flowing off into the woods, eventually to join with the river Anduin and then to the sea. The merry sound of its rushing seemed mockery to the King's ears, mocking him, mocking Faramir, mocking even the victory over the Enemy. The war may have been one, yes, but the Darkness had not left. It lived on in the hearts of wicked men, like his captors.

Shaking the thoughts from his mind, Aragorn turned and looked off to the side. Eowyn stood there, the faint sunlight flickering over her golden hair and illuminating the shining tears on her cheek. The White Lady of Rohan was indeed beautiful, but he knew that there would never be any but Arwen for him. He remembered, not yet a year ago, that Eowyn had loved him, and had been heartbroken when she'd learned that his heart already belonged to another. She had, much to his relief and happiness, found love in Faramir.

Now he'd been taken away too. Aragorn could see in her eyes the same hopelessness that had been there after he had healed her from the Black Breath. He stood up, walking over to her and forcing himself to sound hopeful. "We will find him," he told her, the words as much for himself as for her, as he placed his hand on her shoulder.

Eowyn started slightly. "M-my lord..." she stammered, "I... I did not hear you come up." She quickly passed a hand across her cheek.

Aragorn did not miss the movement. Though she wished for it to seem merely a sign of embarassment, he knew that she had wiped away a tear. "I suppose that is because of my many years as a ranger," Aragorn replied. "You fear for him, do you not?" He turned his gaze from her eyes, habitually scanning the woods. No movement, save the breeze rustling a few leaves. No sign at all of the rebels.

Eowyn turned and looked at Aragorn. The King, even now, without his fine apparel, or even his own great sword, still radiated the pure essence of nobility. Still, she was quite unnerved by the fact that he could sense her worry and pain. But why not simply tell him what had been grating at her heart since she'd learned of their capture?

She took a deep breath, formulating her words in her mind. "I... well, my lord-"

Aragorn turned to her. There was pain in those steel-grey eyes. "Please do not call me that," he told her, remembering how many times he had told his Steward those exact words, "I would be much more at ease if you would simply call me Aragorn."

Eowyn nodded, "Very well, then, Aragorn," she said, noting the relief in his eyes at the fact that he would not have to work as hard to persuade her as he had Faramir. "I must make a confession." She turned her gaze away from him. Guilt flooded her. Unreasonable guilt, she thought, but guilt nonetheless.

Aragorn waited, surprised that Eowyn, stubborn, defiant Eowyn, would utter those words. "And what may this confession be?"

It took all Eowyn's willpower to hold her feelings inside. "It was I who first thought of this... this excursion," she said, letting out a shuddering sigh. "I saw that both you and my husband seemed stretched thin by all of the diplomatic matters. Not once did it occur to me that by going out here your lives may be in danger. It would have been better had you both stayed in the city, painful as official paperwork and council meetings are, than for this to happen!" Her voice had continued to heighten in volume as she spoke. It was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears at that very moment.

Aragorn put a comforting hand on her shoulders. "I do not blame you," he said, quietly, "And I am sure... I am sure Faramir would not blame you either. If anything, I blame myself for allowing him to sacrifice his own life for mine. But never did I think to blame you, Lady Eowyn."

"That was because you did not know," Eowyn replied, bitterly, "I first thought of it, and spoke to the Lady Arwen, and she in turn began to hint at the idea to you." She blinked, once again brushing a tear away from her eyes.

Aragorn nodded slowly, taking in her words. "Yes, I remember Arwen often spoke of Faramir's and my needing a rest from political affairs, and of both of our pasts," he mused, "It was quite simple, though, for I mostly formulated the idea on my own, though she aided its formation greatly." He wanted not to meet her eyes, and he knew she did not want to meet his. They were in a situation of mutual guilt. He sighed. "Once more, I do not blame you. I wish for you to think on that, and not blame yourself."

Eowyn nodded, biting her lip. Then she shook her head, "Nay, I do not think-"

But Aragorn was already speaking. "Besides, there is no evidence that this situation is beyond hope. They could have merely moved him to another location for fear that I should bring a rescue party, as I have done."

"But we have no chance of finding him before either he is dead or too far gone to heal," Eowyn's hopeless words struck a painful note in Aragorn's heart.

"That may be, lady, but I think we have a chance. I have, as I have said before, been a ranger for longer than you have been alive. And many of these men with us are also experienced rangers. There is a chance that, if we find a trail, we will be able to follow it, and find Faramir," As he spoke, he felt hope rising inside of him as he realized the truth in his words.

Eowyn noticed his visible change in demeanour. "You really do think so, then, Aragorn?" she asked, quietly, "You really do think that there is yet hope for him?"

Aragorn nodded. "Yes," he told her, "Yes, I think there may be."

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The King and the rangers had searched the area around the caves for hours, looking to find anything, anything at all, a trail of blood, a few footprints... But there was nothing to be found at all. _These men are very clever at hiding their fell deeds,_ Aragorn thought ruefully as he knelt on the ground, _Perhaps they too are rangers, though of a different sort. _

He picked up a fallen branch, one that could, perhaps, have been knocked down by the vacating rebels. But he found the underside of it damp; it had been there for a while. Barely holding in a cry of frustration, he threw the branch away from him.

_Over half a century as a ranger, and I cannot find so much as a faint trail!_ He stood and began pacing the clearing, thinking of what to do next.

Eowyn watched him, her fair brow knitted in concern. If Aragorn could find no trail, she was quite convinced that no one in this company could. She glanced upward at the sun, having reached its zenith hours ago, and now was nearly dipping below the horizon.

Yet another day would soon draw to an end, another day of her wondering if her husband was even alive. Her heart was near rending from anxiety.

Aragorn's words had given her hope, but now it seemed that that hope too was even fading. She sat on a fallen stone, her grey eyes taking in the scene before her. The entire company, including herself, had been searching since early morning. She had realized that she would be of little help, not having been trained at all in tracking. The shieldmaiden turned her gaze once more to Aragorn's shadowy figure.

The King's pacing became more tense and violent. _There must be something,_ he thought, searching his mind for anything that may help, _No one can completely disappear without a trace._

He'd wandered slightly into the woods, not really looking where he was going. His mind wandered back to his days as a ranger in Eriador, and he began thinking of some of his memories, while keeping an eye on the area around him.

Then, he stopped. There was something. He walked quietly over to a tree and pulled off a tiny shred of forest-green cloth. A smile formed on his lips. It hadn't been there for more than three days. His eyes darted to the ground beneath his feet. The leaf litter was slightly more ruffled here, as if it had been freshly laid down. He knelt and brushed it aside. Sure enough, there was a footprint under it. A faint one, but a footprint nonetheless. Brushing more of the leaves aside, he saw more.

Marking his position, he ran back to the clearing along a thin, cleared pathway that had most certainly been made by his captors.

Eowyn's head shot up as the King burst into the clearing. She looked into his eyes, and they locked on each others' gazes. Then, at last he spoke.

"I've found their trail."

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_To be continued..._

_**Reviewer Responses**__:_

_**Brightpath2**__- I am afraid you shall have to wait a bit longer to see what has happened to Faramir. Terrible sorry, but that is the way with us naughty little fanfiction authours... _

_**Lindahoyland**__- Your question shall be answered in about two chapters. And I fear that that may be a while. _

_A/N: Sorry for cutting it off so abruptly. It does, though, seem a good place to stop. _

_I hope that updates will begin coming more quickly again. _

_Eowyn's personality was very difficult to write in this chapter, I hope I didn't mess her up at all. _

_And you will be seeing more of Damrod, in this story and in my future ones. _

_Meanwhile, I wonder what has happened to dear Faramir... You shall find out in about two chapters, my dear readers. _

_Of course, I think that little button down there in the review box may speed things along a bit... *subtle hint*_

_And so, without further ado, I leave my readers in suspense yet again. _

_~Luthien_


	15. A Final Chance

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters, and lands, are the property of Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was written for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, not for profit._

_**WARNINGS: This chapter contains material that may upset sensitive readers, including, but not limited to, violence, torture, slight references to alchohol use, and extreme pain. Rated T.**_

Chapter Fifteen- A Final Chance

To Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, it seemed that life as he knew it had come to an end. His life was an endless cycle of pain and despair. There was nothing left for him to live for. He would never escape his dark prison; he would never see the sun again. He would never see Eowyn again.

Thoughts like these assailed his mind ever the more strongly with each cut of Calemon's whip or strike of one of his red-hot iron rods. Once again, Faramir noted how skilled he was at his dirty work. Every single torture session, he'd only tormented him until near unconsciousness, and let him regain awareness. Though, of late, he'd grown careless, knowing that the Steward would no longer be able to regain full consciousness, so Calemon had had his way with him however he wished.

There had been no finesse in his torments for the past- how long? He'd lost track of the time he'd been in that hole-, only brutal, ceaseless torment. To Faramir, it seemed as if his entire body was on fire. Before any single one of the wounds was healed, another would rend it open again.

He'd come to the point that he just lay in the pool of his own blood, awaiting the next torture session. He thought back to the last time, when he'd dared to speak up. He'd hoped to stir up some type of mercy into Calemon's heart, and to bring out the good inside him, but it seemed as if Calemon did not have any of that.

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_"Why do you do this, Calemon?" Faramir gasped as he was laid into again and again with the whip. "Why do you enjoy causing others pain?" _

_Calemon had laughed. "I wish you would not ask such ridiculous questions, Captain," he spat. "I do not need to answer to you." He'd brought down the whip again, with such force that Faramir had almost cried out. _

_He pulled away from the wall and turned to face his tormentor. "You could have chosen a different path, Calemon," he told him. "You could have remained loyal to Gondor, instead of running off here and becoming who you are now." _

_Calemon was unfazed by his words. "Perhaps I did not wish to be loyal to Gondor," he spat, "If all Gondor does is demote me and put a young upstart like you in my place."_

_Faramir met his eyes through the red haze in front of them. "But it is not my doing that you were demoted," he replied, "It was the doing of my father."_

_Calemon had merely shrugged him off. "He is no longer here. And you shouldn't be either," he paused, smirking as he saw the Steward's expression change, then continued. "You should have burned with your father."_

_Faramir felt suddenly cold. He never spoke of his father's death, but the word had gotten around somehow in four months. And of course, Calemon would prey upon this. Oh yes, it would be quite a good way to eat away at Faramir's entire being. Of course Faramir would be quite disturbed by this. _

_The poor Steward did not know how to react to this, and Calemon jumped at his discomfort. "It would have been better for Gondor to have no Steward at all than a weakling like you."_

_He fell upon Faramir with a shower of blows, beating him until he sank to the floor, bleeding from deep gashes and weals all over his body, his breathing shallow and quick. _

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Faramir had not spoken a word since then. He'd merely taken the beatings, no sound escaping him save ragged breathing and a rare cry. His throat ached from holding in screams of agony, and he could not move without feeling as if he were on fire.

The door to his cell swung open, and he heard Calemon's booted feet crossing the area to the back wall, against which Faramir lay, curled in on himself against the pain, his hands still bound behind his back. He closed his eyes tightly, tensing and preparing for the next onslaught.

Much to his surprise, though, it never came. He was jerked roughly to his feet by the man, and pressed against the walls. A slight whimper of pain escaped his lips, and Calemon smiled wickedly. "Not so brave now, are you, Captain?" he taunted, giving Faramir a slap across the face. "Sadly, there will be no more pleasantries today," he snapped his fingers, and two of his men came into the cell, each taking one of his arms and holding him up.

"What are you doing?" Faramir asked, his voice raspy and weak. "Where are you taking me?" He tried to struggle, but it was all in vain. The men holding him were burly and strong, as all of Calemon's men were, and he was weakened by pain and blood loss.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Calemon sneered. "Bring him along," he barked, and the guards dragged Faramir, who'd long since fallen limp, outside of the cell. A few more of the men were waiting with a sack, into which they pushed him, the rough burlap irritating his already painful wounds.

He felt sick to the stomach as he was slung over the shoulder of one of the men like a sack of potatoes, and his head began to swim. Soon, he had drifted into an unrestful unconsciousness.

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The next few hours passed in a blur to him; he was never sure if he was awake or sleeping. A fever had set in, and he found it hard to breathe, the air inside the sack thick and hot. Several times, he felt like sobbing, but he couldn't; it hurt too badly.

At last, after what had seemed like ages, he was dropped roughly onto the ground. The sack was opened, and he was pulled out. For a while he simply lay there, hungrily gulping fresh, cool air into his lungs, until Calemon's foot on his chest jerked him to reality.

He opened his eyes, then squinted them shut. The late afternoon sunlight streaming into the wood hurt, temporarily blinding him. He moaned quietly.

"Did you enjoy your nap?" Calemon asked, laughing derisively to himself as he gave Faramir a kick in the ribs which made the Steward gasp in pain. "I am no fool, Captain," he continued, "Since your dear King escaped, I knew he'd come back for you. And I'm not about to simply kill you off now, for I haven't had enough fun with you yet. So we had to leave."

"The King will find me," Faramir gasped, his breath coming in short spurts, "He will. You can bet your miserable life on it."

Calemon snorted. "You forget that I was a ranger for most of my life, and a criminal for the rest of it. I know that he'll try to track us. So I concealed the trail." He gave Faramir a thump on the shoulder, falsely good-natured, only meant to give him pain. "I think he would have a hard time indeed finding it."

"He will find the trail," Faramir countered, "I know he will. And you will get what you deserve for your crimes."

A kick in Faramir's gut silenced him. "Now quiet, little Steward," Calemon said, shoving him against a tree and binding him tightly. "If you try anything, you're as good as dead." Then he and his men left to prepare supper.

Alone at last, Faramir examined the knot in the rope that held him to the tree. _I know that I'm as good as dead if I try to escape,_ he mused, _but since you're planning to kill me, I do not see any harm in trying._

Barely holding in screams of agony, he brought his hands around to the front and began to work at the knot. Calemon hadn't done the most complicated one, probably assuming that Faramir was too weak even to try to untie it.

But Faramir was Hurin's descendant, as stubborn as any of his line, and willing to go through great pain to get what he wanted. His head throbbed, and he was almost blinded by the pain coursing through him, but he'd gotten a hold of the loose end of the knot and was working at it furiously with his fingers.

Suddenly he felt pressure be released from his chest. The rope fell to the ground with a soft thump. His heartbeat quickened. He was free.

"What's going on over there?" a gruff voice that he recognized as one of Calemon's guards' shouted, sounding slightly intoxicated with drink.

Faramir froze. Though he could barely move, he knew he had to run now, and run as fast and far as he could to get away from them. Summoning all of his strength, he forced his feet forward, running from the clearing.

He ran into the woods of Ithilien, branches snapping into his face, sometimes hitting a tree trunk, absolutely blind in the dark of the night and with the pain swarming through his body like a thousand hornets. He head the mens' shouts behind him as they chased him, but still he ran. The soles of his bare feet felt as if they were about to fall off with every thorn and branch that stuck into them, and his limbs felt as if they were on fire.

On and on he ran, until he could not force himself to go any further. He stopped for a brief moment, then started forward, only to find that, a few feet ahead, the ground fell away into nothingness. He glanced backwards, and through his bleary vision he saw faint lights. Torches, carried by those hunting him. They were coming closer and closer. Faramir could not run anymore.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped off the edge of the chasm.

After what seemed like hours of falling, he landed on his right foot with a sickening 'snap.' Then he fell forward, his head striking a rock, and knew no more.

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_To be Continued..._

_A/N: So, how did you like the cliffhanger. Well, actually, it's not quite a cliffhanger, more like a cliff-fall-er or something along those lines. _

_Well, at least now we're getting somewhere. But this story is far from over... The hardest part is about to begin. :D_

_And, I may not have an update on this for a little while. I'm currently working on a oneshot for Memorial Day, called 'A Time to Mourn.' I just thought I'd warn you so that you don't think I've abandoned this, and so you can keep a heads up for it. Just a slight warning, though, 'A Time to Mourn' takes place after the events in 'A Tale of Two Rangers,' so it may contain some slight spoilers. But keep a look out for it! It's due for publishing on 26 May, 2014. _

_REVIEW REPLIES (The most of these yet! *gives free cookies to all reviewers*))_

_**Lindahoyland: **__Yeah. Aragorn will be using his ranger skills a lot in the next few chapters._

_**Brightpath2: **__At last! The suspense is over! Now you know what has been happening to our poor, dear little Steward. Well, sort of... Of course, once again there is no way to tell if he is dead or alive, so, terribly sorry, but we are back where we started._

_**DarylDixon'sgirl11985: **__Once again, another obstacle in Aragorn's search! Don't worry, there will be some relief of suspense soon... or maybe not._

_**Miss King Aragorn: **__I think the ceaseless pestering sessions have paid off, for you've gotten what you've wanted! Though I must regret to say that you'll have to wait for the NEXT chapter to find out what happens next... always the same with these multi-chapter stories._

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_NEXT CHAPTER COMING SOON!_

_Oh, and I almost forgot... Happy Easter to all of my readers and reviewers! _

_~Luthien_


	16. Seeking Answers

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters, and lands, are the property of Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was written for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, not for profit._

_**WARNINGS: This chapter contains material that may upset sensitive readers, including, but not limited to, violence, references to torture, alchohol use, and extreme anxiety. Rated T.**_

Chapter Sixteen- Seeking Answers

The company had stopped briefly during the night; though Aragorn would have much liked to go on, he knew that he was yet recovering, and far from fully healed, and he also knew that Eowyn would need to rest. He still wondered why she thought that she should come herself to find them, when she'd sent a very capable ranger in Damrod to do so.

After their rest, they'd gone on, the path now quite easy to follow, even if they only had moonlight and starlight to do so. The rebels had obviously not expected them to be able to find their trail. This thought at least gave Aragorn some consolation. They would have the advantage of surprise on their side.

They went onward through the moonlit woods silently, Aragorn leading, his head bent over the trail. It was nearly dawn by the time he heard distinct, gruff voices up ahead. He held his hand out, raising his head, and listened closely.

They were still quite a ways away from where the voices came from, and Aragorn could only catch fragments of their sentences. "Fool... nice job guarding... be takin' 'is place..."

Slowly, Aragorn and a few of the rangers crept forward. They peered into a small clearing, in which was a campfire with dying embers still glowing. Several men were milling about, and a few were in deep argument.

Then his gaze fell on the tall, thin, sharp-featured man. He instantly recognized him as Faramir's impersonator, and drew back. He motioned for Damrod and Mablung to come to him, and he leaned his head in next to theirs.

"I'll take a small patrol right into their camp," he explained, "I'd like you to form a circle around it, and wait for my order." He glanced between the two rangers, as they nodded their understanding.

"Then, you'll advance on them. I don't want any killed, or even harmed," he paused at their shocked, protesting expressions, and, before they could say anything, added, "If we do harm them, they may hurt Lord Faramir even more badly."

He started through the underbrush, flanked by his small group, taking care to make as little noise as possible. Silently, he slid his borrowed sword from its sheath, motioning for the others to do the same. Then he entered the clearing.

The men looked up, shocked, fearful expressions on their face.

Aragorn stepped forward, and the rangers came behind him. "Good morning," he said cooly, his grey eyes like points of ice.

The rebels regained their composure, and took out their weapons.

"No closer, Elessar," their leader said. "Or else you'll die too." His thin face was twisted into a menacing grin.

The others emerged from the trees around them, surrounding the camp and the men inside of it. Aragorn saw that Eowyn was among them, her eyes blazing furiously, looking like she'd like nothing more than for her sword to pierce the man's heart.

Most of the rebels appeared to be terrified, but the leader was unfazed. "Oh, I see you've come to rescue your dear little Steward, Elessar," he said, a knowing, malicious look on his face, "But none, and I say none, escapes from Calemon of Ithilien."

Aragorn glared fiercely at him. "Bring Lord Faramir to me," he said in a tone that would have made most men quail.

Calemon laughed shortly. "Well, that, I'm afraid, I cannot do. Now leave, unless you would like to suffer the same fate as Dear Captain Faramir." He drew out his own blade and began to move towards Aragorn, who moved to react.

Eowyn was too fast for either of them, though, and had come between them, bringing her blade against Calemon's. "What have you done to Faramir?" she asked in a low, threatening voice, fearlessly meeting Calemon's surprised eyes with her own angry ones.

Calemon brushed her off, taking a step back. "He is _dead!_" he spat forcefully, seeming pleased with himself. "Dead, Elessar," he continued, "And you will be as well." He ran forward, blade extended.

He'd moved too fast and unexpectedly for Aragorn to react properly, and soon the King's sword was knocked from his hand. Calemon threw him to the ground and tossed the sword aside, pressing a small dagger against Aragorn's neck. "I shall enjoy watching you die, Elessar."

Aragorn gulped as he felt the sharp steel touching him, but he met Calemon's eyes anyway. "Why?" he asked, in a whisper. "Why is there such hatred in your heart?"

Calemon's gaze darkened. "I do not answer that question!" he exclaimed, and Aragorn felt the blade beginning to cut through his skin. He closed his eyes and waited for the end.

But it never came. The pressure was relieved, and Aragorn looked up to see Calemon lying on the ground, dead, the dagger still in his hand, and a hateful expression in his unseeing eyes. A green feathered arrow had pierced his back, shot by one of the rangers in defence of his King.

Aragorn rose unsteadily to his knees and closed the dead man's eyes, the hateful, accusing expression in them haunting him. He'd lived with hate and died the same way. _Not everyone will see redemption,_ he reminded himself. Malborn and Damrod each took a hold of one of his arms and helped him to his feet.

Aragorn felt a thin trickle of blood seeping from his throat. He reached up his finger and touched it; it was not too deep. Satisfied for the moment, he turned on Calemon's men, who were now, without their leader, looking like frightened sheep.

"Tell me where my Steward is," he ordered them.

It took a few moments, but one eventually stepped forward. "Um, 'e is dead, milord," he said, "'E fell off a cliff."

Aragorn's eyes grew even more piercing. "Explain," he said in a threatening, monotonous voice.

The man shifted uneasily. "Well, ye see, milord, we'd stopped 'ere for the night, and 'e was tied to that thar tree over there. None o' us thought 'e'd be able to escape, so we went ta 'ave some drink. But then, we look'd o'er thar an' saw that 'e'd gotten loose," he looked up, then back down at his feet. "We chased 'im for a while, then 'e stopped at the edge of a cliff. We thought 'we've got 'im now, 'e can't go anywhere,' an' so we started runnin' faster. But then 'e just fell off the edge like so."

Aragorn stepped forward, picking up his fallen sword and pointing it at the man's chest. "Show me the place."

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After a quarter hour of walking, they'd come to the cliff's edge. Aragorn peered over, but could see nothing but a thick fog beneath him. He turned to the ones who had come with him. "I am going down there," he said, "I'd like two of you to come with me, please. The rest, make sure that this rascal stays out of mischief."

He started down the rocky cliff, but turned around. "Stay, Eowyn," he said, giving the lady a pointed look as she opened her mouth to protest. "You may be needed up here."

She seemed not at all happy with this proposal, but she didn't attempt to convince Aragorn to let her come down with him anymore.

Aragorn began to descend into the fog, followed by Lindir and another ranger. In places, the rocks were scarce, and it was nearly a straight drop down to the next ledge. After a few minutes, he grew tired and sore from the rocks that had been scraping him; a sure sign that he wasn't fully healed.

_There has to be some other way down here,_ he thought ruefully, _I was just in too much of a hurry to look for it._

He ignored the aches and exhaustion as well as he could, but it was quite clear that Lindir, who was closest, noticed it. Several times he felt the ranger's hand on his arm, steadying him as his head swam with dizziness, and he was grateful for it.

At long last, then reached the bottom. Aragorn looked up through the thick fog and shuddered before collapsing on the ground in exhaustion. It was more than fifty feet, probably closer to seventy, to the top of the cliff. There was little chance that Faramir, in his already weakened state, could have survived the fall.

_Of course,_ he thought, _There is more to Faramir son of Denethor than meets the eye._ He pushed himself to his feet.

"What now, sire?" Lindir asked.

Aragorn turned to the serious-faced ranger. "Now we search," he said, his own expression mirroring the latter's.

Lindir gave a short nod, and he and the other man who'd come down with them spread out. Aragorn did as well, though his head throbbed painfully. He knew that he shouldn't be exerting himself so much right now, for he could relapse, but it didn't matter at the moment.

All that mattered right then and there was finding Faramir.

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Lindir wiped a hand across his face. The fog down here was thick, and he couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him. He splashed into a wet, boggy, stagnant pool. The mud sucked at his boots as he tried to pull himself out.

He was surprised. Faramir had never been rash, not when he'd known him as a young, fledgeling Ithilien ranger, anyway. He was always thoughtful and considerate, thinking over every movement the rangers made carefully. They must have mistreated him horribly for him to have been so desperate for escape that he'd do something like this.

At last clear of the puddle, Lindir glanced around. The sun was rising above, and the fog, though still quite thick, wasn't nearly as bad as before. He staggered along, his feet weighted down by the fast-drying mud. He wondered if the others had had any luck.

Shaking his head, he went forward.

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Eowyn peered down through the thinning fog, her brow creased in worry. It had been nearly an hour since they'd descended into the ravine, and she hadn't heard anything.

She didn't want to show her anxiety, for the one thing she didn't need was the pity of the men there. She took out her dagger and stabbed it into a nearby tree, drew it out, and stabbed again. She wished each time that it were Calemon she was stabbing all over again. Her eyes blazed as her worry turned into anger.

_How dare they treat my Faramir that way?_

She paused suddenly, noticing that the rangers had begun to look over the edge. Dropping the dagger she ran over, looking down. There was still not much she could see, but she did see something that made her heart leap to her throat.

She saw Aragorn bending down to the ground, and heard him call the other two men, who came running and knelt next to him.

She inhaled sharply when the fog cleared further.

They were gathered around a still, lifeless form, his body bent in unnatural angles. They were gathered around Faramir.

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_To Be Continued..._

_A/N: I think I'll be starting a regular updating schedule soon, updating at least once a week on a given day (which I still have to decide on). I may skip sometimes, but it should be pretty regular. _

_SPRING IS HERE! I'm so happy, that I may just give you another chapter either today or tomorrow! _

_And, by the way, this story is probably about halfway finished. But there will be many, many more to come, so don't worry! _

_REVIEW RESPONSES_

_**DarylDixon'sgirl11985- **__Worse? Don't ask me those questions... I may just take you up on that challenge._

_**Mrs**__**. King Aragorn- **__*grins* Yeah, we can always dream about stuff like that... *giggles*_

_**Brightpath2- **__I guess I just sort of worsened your concern again... Oops. _

_And I guess that's it for this update. See you all soon!_

_~Luthien_


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